The Old Spinster
by quietthinker
Summary: After Jimmy Neutron experiences the best moment of his life, he vows to find out what caused it. What he finds is a ridiculous chain of events that nearly destroy Retroville Middle School.
1. The Perfect Ending

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoy this story, which will last eight chapters. I would love to hear any thoughts you have on it. Though the holiday is still months away, consider it an early Christmas present to the fandom which has given me so much. **

**And don't worry. Everything will be explained.**

* * *

"I already told you, boy," Jimmy hastily explained while yanking a crisp can of Purple Flurp from the fridge. The can felt like ice against his already frozen skin – he yearned for a warm cup of cocoa instead. Yet James wasn't willing to waste a single moment boiling water. He kicked the fridge door closed with his foot and spun around to face Goddard. The mechanical canine sat in the middle of his lab's control room, patiently waiting for his master to explain.

"Today was the best day of my life." A hazy image coalesced in his mind's eye – ferns and fireflies flittered to life. The genius shook his head and the picture scattered to the winds. "And we're going to figure out how it happened."

James darted about the lab; every motion was hastened by clear purpose. The can of Flurp was popped and poured. A bag of chips was tossed onto the control room's chair. The last step was to lug out a heavy chrome box – if it wasn't for the electrodes trailing along the ground, it would pass for a cable box.

"Ah roo?" Goddard asked while cocking his head.

"Don't worry," Jimmy casually explained while plugging the device into the lab's main monitor. "The Temporal Dethreader worked fine when we used it to find that missing beef heart steak." Goddard rolled his eyes, but Jimmy waved off the gesture. "It all worked out in the end. And don't you want to see the show?"

"Roh-oh," Goddard uneasily barked as Jimmy grabbed the chips and settled into his chair. He set the snack aside and took a sip of the cold soda. The mechanical canine spun in a circle before lying on the floor. Jimmy scoffed and immediately scooped him up onto his lap. Goddard quietly groaned in content, and Jimmy turned on the main monitor. The giant screen brightened the dim lab and indicated it was synced to Jimmy's invention.

"Vox," Jimmy ordered while sticking the electrode's to his temple, "program the Temporal Dethreader to find the kid ultimately responsible for my current emotional state."

"Understood," Vox's enticing voice purred back. "Temporal Dethreader ready."

James leaned forward and poised his hand over the device's main button. He let out a proud smile and closed his eyes in anticipation. To Jimmy Neutron, time was merely a flimsy ball of yarn cobbled together by an old spinster. And he was about to untangle it. With the push of a button, the show began.

* * *

 _ **1:45 p.m.**_

A sharp ringing reverberated throughout every room and hallway inside Retroville Middle School. Some classroom doors instantly burst open under the pressure form a dozen students eager to escape the searing acrid air. Other rooms erupted into frenzied shouts of joy. Yet the students before Ms. Creek quietly and calmly closed their books and folded their folders.

"Now remember, everyone," the amiable instructor said while setting her chalk down. Streaks of white clung to her sweaty fingers; she settled on wiping them on her long-abandoned sweater. "Enjoy your holiday break, but remember to finish your homework packets." A few groans of dismay simmered amongst the dehydrated students, but it was a half-hearted chorus at best. This was partially from the respect they held for Ms. Creek, and partially due to their borderline fugue states. "It will take two hours at most. Happy holidays, everyone!"

Jimmy scribbled a few final numbers on the paper on his desk before swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He smiled to himself, jumped out of his seat, and set the finished parcel of math problems onto Ms. Creek's desk. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, James headed out into the hallway. He watched student after student make a mad dash for the cold outside, and was about to follow suit when a familiar harpy voice pierced his ears

"Find math productive, Neutron?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes as he spun to the left. Cindy Vortex was leaning against a locker, smiling smugly at him. Her ponytail was deflated into a messy lob; James was certain his hair had melted into a less glamorous style. He cocked his head at her legs – her khakis had been sheared into shorts. From the ragged bottom edges, it was evidently a hasty job.

"Surprisingly enough," James struggled to tear his gaze back to her smirk, "pre-algebra did not motivate me to solve Goldbach's conjecture." A distant siren was heard, and James smiled at the opportunity. He motioned at her and teased, "I'm assuming the fashion police have been called."

"Original as we are clever," Cindy tossed a final barb back, but she couldn't hide a slight grin at his quick remark. She fell into stride with James as he headed towards his locker.

Normally, the two friends slid into an easy rapport after their routine of shared barbs was satisfied. This time, however, there was an obvious unease coating Cindy's slim grin. It didn't take long for him to remember a likely explanation for her malaise.

"So," he began while grabbing his locker's dial and twisting it, "did you finish your book report?"

Cindy was quiet a beat too long; she waited until James opened his locker and was concealed by its door. "Actually, I talked to Mr. Pace and…" she swallowed hard and turned away from the locker. "I'm going to turn it in late."

Cindy listened to the rustling inside Jimmy's locker deaden and the door close. She curled both hands into anxious fists before facing her friend. James said, "I thought he had a zero tolerance policy for late work."

"He does," Cindy uneasily answered. "I'll get ten points off. A ninety at best."

For just a moment, Jimmy was puzzled by why Cindy was staring at him so expectantly. But before he could decipher her thoughts, a response fell from his lips. "Are you worried your mom will get upset?"

Cindy's gaze dropped to the floor, and she sighed in obvious relief. "No," she shook her head as a smile conquered her cheeks. "Not at all."

"Well," Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck, "if the need arises, we can always use the HypnoBeam on her."

"Maybe," Cindy absent-mindedly answered. She inhaled deeply, gripped her backpack's straps tighter, and let out a slow breath. "Walk me out?" she calmly asked.

"Um," a surprised Jimmy answered, "sure." He took two steps towards the right, down the main hallway. After he failed to hear Cindy's feet patter beside him, he turned to find her grinning. "That would involve you following me, right?"

The borderline sardonic remark didn't faze her in the least. She hoisted a thumb over her shoulder. "Let's go out through the basement."

Jimmy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "The principal said it was off limits until the HazMat team could move in."

Cindy patted her backpack and set off towards the stairwell. "Don't worry; I have a key. Come on."

Jimmy followed, and the two headed to a nearby staircase. They descended in stride, and hesitated before a chained set of double doors. Jimmy sniffed and scowled; the air held a rank trace of mildew.

"I'll make it worth your while," Cindy promised while pulling a golden key from her pocket. Jimmy noticed the ring was labeled **Master Key**. She unlocked the chain and pushed open the doors. The light from the hallway faded into a dark abyss; the mold-ridden scent seemed to rush from the basement's unseen depths. Both kids flinched as the odor strengthened to all out assault on their nostrils. Cindy tucked her nose and mouth into her shirt; James followed suit. He fumbled for a nearby lightswitch, but the power was long dead. Cindy yanked a flashlight out of her backpack and powered it on – the torch illuminated the area ahead.

For just a moment, Jimmy was mesmerized by the thick patches of mold on the ceiling, fern-like shrubbery peeking out of every doorway, and random fluttering fireflies. He was instantly reminded of the time his father had sent him to the Triassic period. This awe was abruptly shattered by the soul-clenching sound of slithering insects.

The flashlight settled on a swirling swarm of cockroaches, and Jimmy's lunch leapt into his throat. Cindy merely groaned in annoyance. "I thought one would do the trick," she explained while pulling a silver canister out of her sack. She yanked out its pull ring and tossed the grenade far down the hallway.

"How…" Jimmy shook his head, failing to comprehend everything as smoke filled the basement. "Why do you have teargas?" Jimmy asked in shock.

"It gets rid of the roaches," Cindy shrugged. She felt Jimmy's gaze bore deeper into her, so she calmly added, "It's been a weird day. Just follow my lead."

Soon the bugs dissipated, and the noxious vapors followed suit. Once the air was clear, Cindy led Jimmy through the prehistoric substructure. They ended their trek before a fire exit, and Cindy grabbed Jimmy's arm before he could push it open.

"Neutron," she gave a gentle squeeze and watched him face her, "do you know we're here?"

Jimmy glanced at the insanity around him, used all of his brainpower to figure out what the heck had happened to Retroville Middle School, and ultimately shrugged. "I honestly cannot fathom a guess."

Cindy let go of James and took a deep breath. "I want you to know something. Up until fifth grade, the only person I really had was Libby." Cindy leaned against the cement wall and rubbed her elbow; after a moment she slid down to the ground. "And as good as she was, she wasn't enough."

The sudden seriousness of their conversation paralyzed Jimmy, he could do nothing but side beside her and wait for her to continue. After a moment, her eyes met his and she went on. "I needed more than one friend. One person I could really talk to. I needed you and the guys." Cindy swallowed hard as emerald drilled deeper into cerulean.

"Until today, I never thought about what it really meant to have you four. All of you, together, make me feel like I'm not alone." She smiled and grabbed Jimmy's hand; he was shocked by how quickly he rubbed it with his thumb. "You don't know how good that feels."

James' mind instantly went back to over a year before, to when he cried alone in a far away cell. He remembered a high pitched voice asking, _"So why don't you buck up, mister?"_ James closed his eyes and said to Cindy, "I do know."

He squeezed her palm, and Cindy placed her free hand on James' shoulder. "I need you to understand," she pleaded, "that we're not the same people we used to be. So we don't need to play the same game." She swallowed hard and whispered, "I learned today that we we won it, Neutron."

Cindy leaned her forehead against his. He instinctively held his breath as their noses touched. "I brought you down here," she whispered, "because I wanted to give you something. Do you remember when we officially became friends?"

Jimmy's chest tightened as he thought back to the aftermath of Intergalactic Showdown. "I," he struggled to mouth the words while inhaling her jasmine scent, "recall a trip to the Candy Bar."

Cindy nodded and pushed herself away from him. After rising to her feet, she offered him a hand. He clasped it with ease. As James was hoisted up, Cindy said, "I was thinking that it might finally be time to become something more. And make it official."

Jimmy gulped. "You mean, with a contract?"

Cindy let of James and grabbed the door's handle. "No. With a seal of trust." She swung open the door, and both children stared up at the dangling mistletoe. One final time, Cindy held out a trembling palm. Jimmy stared at the sweat on her skin, then into her desperate eyes.

"What do you say, Jimmy?" Her warm smile melted his hesitation away. "Do you trust me?"

He reached out and grabbed her hand. Their movements slowed; the doorway's bright light drowned out the fireflies. Both hands clenched each other, and James stepped towards his friend.

"Always," he simply answered. He and she stood for a long moment, then James used his free hand to touch Cindy's cheek. She trembled as a frightened breath left her lips. Then her eyes popped open, and Jimmy watched the all too familiar flames emblazon those beautiful emerald eyes. She dropped his palm, pushed both his shoulders back against the door, and slammed her soft lips onto his.


	2. Ye of Little Faith

_**12:31 p.m.**_

Retroville Middle School's library was an unassuming yet pleasant escape for many of its students. All of the walls were lined with a few dozen shelves of young adult books. Inside the box formed by this literature rested a few discrete areas. There was the long table in the middle of the room for doing paper work. Then there was the quartet of cushy chairs for reading. Yet it was the ten computers where most of the students currently sat. The majority were trying to bypass the school's firewall to play video games. But one blonde-haired girl had isolated herself and was furiously tapping the book beside her monitor.

"Come on," Cindy groaned as her left knuckles repeatedly bounced off the cover. She stared down at her pristine copy of H. G. Wells' _The Time Machine_. She clenched and unclenched her left hand, as though trying to squeeze out any drops of inspiration from the humid air.

 _You can do this,_ she silently told herself while glaring at the blank word document on her screen. _Or rather_ , she furiously thought as beads of sweat coalesced against her temple, _you could if it wasn't a desert in here_.

Cindy watched the clock in the corner of her monitor march forward another minute. She pushed the keyboard away from her and struggled to combat the tightening of her chest. For Cynthia Vortex, writing a five hundred word book report would normally be child's play. Yet a few too many adventures with the gang had led her to procrastinate, and now it was impossible to focus.

Each second that passed made it more likely that she would fail to finish her report on time. Adding to that anxiety was the abruptly stifling heat roaring through the school's vents. She glared up at the nearest one right above her. As more sweat poured down her face, she angrily ripped the scrunchie from her ponytail and used it to dab her forehead. The next step in pursuing a semblance of comfort was rolling up her khakis, but the skin-tight fabric was less than cooperative.

Just as Cindy started to search for a pair of scissors, the library's door was tossed open. To her surprise, Carl Wheezer and Ike Burke burst through side by side. Both were clad in mirrored sunglasses and had Nerf guns slung over their shoulders. Carl, for whatever reason, was also struggling to carry an enormous and battered cardboard box. Both boys shared a passionate nod before bumping fists.

"Why?" Cindy groaned while realizing this would eat up more of her focus. Ike spotted her first, cocked his head, and then reached into his pocket. He thrust an unseen object into Carl's palm, flashed Cindy a friendly wave, and then exited the library.

"What the heck was that about?" Cindy asked as Carl headed her way.

"Well," Carl explained while dropping his box on the floor beside them, "Ike and I just pulled off a 'Stealing Your Heart' type situation." Cindy narrowed her eyes as Carl sat down at the computer beside her. He stared at her through his sunglasses and went on, "Remember? You stole Jimmy's beef heart steak so all of us guys had to raid Ms. Wolf's fridge to get it ba-"

"Of course I remember," Cindy seethed as Carl whipped off his sunglasses to reveal his normal brown specs. "I nearly failed cooking because of it."

"Well," Carl shrugged while opening the Paint program on his computer, "you did steal the steak."

"We're not discussing this again!" Cindy snapped, earning her a nasty **ssshhh** from the nearby librarian. At the edge of her rope, Cindy let out a long sigh. "Why are you here, Carl?" she slowly asked at the end of her exhalation.

Carl started drawing a heart on the computer. "I just need to finish a little project."

"Well, join the club," Cindy motioned at her book. She looked up at the clock over the library's doorway and realized that time was still ticking by. Each move of the second hand yanked a little more air from her lungs.

"Speaking of clubs," Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden key. "Ike said you looked stressed and wanted to give you this. He said it unlocks all the doors in the school. Meet him in woodshop after final bell if you want a free drink."

Cindy tore her gaze away from the clock and towards the school's master key. "How does that make any sense?" She seethed, though she accepted the gift. She studied the instrument, deemed it authentic, and cocked her head. "And where did you get this?"

Carl beamed at her. "The principal's office. I told you it was an SMH level adventure!" He noticed Cindy close her eyes once more, then asked, "So…was he right? Are you stressed?"

"What do you think?!" Cindy snapped. "I have nineteen minutes to finish this book report which I haven't even started. Meanwhile you're talking about beef heart steak and having drinks in woodshop!"

"Sorry," Carl timidly answered. He fell quiet, and Cindy turned back to her computer. Carl did the same and quickly started filling in his outline of a heart with red. He was about to start typing beneath the picture when he realized Cindy still hadn't written anything on her computer. He stared anxiously at his own screen, then faced his friend.

"Cindy?" he asked. The golden-haired girl shook her head, but said nothing. "Why don't you just ask to hand your report in tomorrow. It's the day before winter break – no one seems to care what we do."

Cindy listened to Carl's words and replied with a modicum of serenity. "Mr. Pace isn't exactly known for his temperate demeanor. He made it clear that if we hand work in even a period late, we lose ten points."

"Isn't a ninety good enough?" Carl asked.

Cindy rolled her eyes while absent-mindedly typing her name on the blank word document. "Not enough to beat Neutron."

Carl watched as Cindy irately tried to roll up her pants once more. "I thought you and Jim were friends," he whispered. "Why do you need to beat him?"

Cindy refused to meet Carl's gaze and stared hard at her book. She ripped it open to a random page. "Of course we're friends, Carl. But we still have to compete with each other."

"Why?"

"Because," Cindy gripped a page tight and read a few arbitrary lines, "that's what we've always done."

"What would happen if you lost?"

Cindy spun towards Carl and accidentally ripped her page. She couldn't stop her lips from curling into a snarl. "You've sure got a lot of questions today!" The rest of her answer raced from her mouth faster than the hot air out of the vent above her. "He'd gloat, okay? He would revel in his brilliance while I'd feel like a stupid failure and it doesn't help that it's a million freaking degrees in here!"

"Sorry about that," Carl sheepishly explained.

"Why are you sorry?" Cindy snapped. She let out a few deep breaths and realized how insane she was sounding. "Look," she gingerly went on, "just let me finish this, okay?"

Carl stared at her for a quiet moment before nodding. "Sure thing." He watched her nod back before staring at her computer. Her eyes settled on the cursor blinking over and over beside her name – the only two words she'd managed to come up with. Carl stared as she placed her fingers on the keyboard, tried to summon some last-minute miracle, and ultimately hang her head as she fell short.

Carl glanced at the clock, realized sixth period was drawing to a close, and grabbed his mouse. He exited out of his paint program and turned his full attention to Cindy. He opened his mouth and said her name. "Cindy?"

Cynthia was far too exhausted to snap at Carl. She rested her forehead on the table - the act was only partially sardonic. After getting comfortable, she motioned for Carl to continue and closed her eyes.

She stared at the blackness of her lids as his voice droned on. "Do you remember when Sheen failed that history test and was going to stay back? How Jimmy made him super smart?"

Cindy kept her lids closed, and a movie seemed to be projected on the black screen before her pupils. She saw Sheen's freakishly enlarged head, watched in disgust as he tortured the townspeople, and cringed as Carl and Jimmy were nearly electrocuted to death.

"I remember how Jimmy's invention nearly destroyed the entire town. I think that was the thirtieth time, but I may have lost count by that point," she shot back.

"Well," Carl tried again, "what about when I needed to impress Elkie? Jimmy pretended to be dumb and let me use his lab."

Cindy slowly raised her head and stared blankly at Carl, waiting for his point.

Carl rubbed his arm. "And that time he fixed your sweatsock trans…transmodif…" Carl struggled to pronounced Cindy's science fair invention. "Your sweatsock transmit-goobal-doosatron?"

"It was a sweatsock transmogrifier," Cindy quietly corrected. She thought back to that day and recalled how Jimmy had been the one to offer to fix it for her.

"My point is," Carl shrugged, "Jimmy does experiment on me and Sheen. And," Carl's gaze dropped and his cadence took on a devastatingly severe contrition. "I know us guys were mean to you girls."

Cindy couldn't help but mirror some of his penance. "Libby and I weren't exactly great to you guys."

Both kids sat in silence for a moment before Carl looked into Cindy's eyes. "But we're all friends. And friends help each other. That's what Jimmy's done for all of us when we needed it. So," Carl shrugged one shoulder and cupped a palm, "maybe you should give him a chance to show he'll do that again. Instead of worrying about him hurting you."

Both kids sat in silence as Cindy considered Carl's words. She thought back to Candy Bar all those months ago, when she and Jimmy had made their friendship official. _How many times have we saved each other's life since then? How many times have we…nearly become something more?_ Cindy swiped a hand over her soaked forehead and then at her computer screen. _After everything we've been through, wouldn't he be able to tell I need him on my side today?_

"Maybe," Cindy said while exiting out of her report, "you're right, Carl."

"Wow," Carl answered back while adjusting his glasses. "This may be the proudest moment of my li-"

Carl's hard-won speech was interrupted by a barrage of sneezes. Cindy raised her book to shield herself from a storm of mucous and angrily shouted, "What the heck is wrong with you, Wheezer?!"

"Sorry," Carl sniffed while pulling out his inhaler. He stared at the vent above them and explained, "My allergies are acting up." He took a puff as Cindy rolled her eyes. He became despondent and asked, "I ruined the chance for a speech, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," Cindy agreed. She sighed and then offered, "but maybe join Ike and me in woodshop after school. We'll give you another chance then." Carl beamed at her, and Cindy couldn't stop from grinning back.

"Anyway," Carl happily said, "I better get going. Good luck with your paper. And with Jimmy."

Cindy watched Carl stand up and sling his Nerf shotgun back over his shoulder. "Thanks, Carl." The nerd took a few steps away, and Cindy asked, "What about your box? And your project?"

Carl's stare flittered from the computer to the dented package before ultimately resting on Cindy. He shrugged and said, "I don't think I need either of them. I'll have Sheen pick that up later."

With that said, he popped his sunglasses back on and confidently strolled out of the library. Cindy stared at the box and studied the three letters written on the front with black marker. "What the heck does G.R.G. mean?"

She quickly remembered that she had just taken advice from Carl, made plans to hang out with him, and that the school was rapidly morphing into Death Valley. A mysterious box was the least of her concerns. She reached towards a nearby cup of office supplies and grabbed a pair of scissors. "Weirdest day ever," she said with a grin while grabbing her khakis one final time.


	3. GRG

_**10:59 a.m.**_

Carl Wheezer struggled and failed to block out the hustle and bustle of Retroville Middle School's main hallway. Amidst the dozens of conversations and bumping bodies, Carl tried to focus on only two things: maintaining his grip on the enormous cardboard box in his grasp and organizing the plan in his mind.

 _If you set off the fireworks right at final bell, that could lead to the third act,_ he thought while adjusting his grip. He side-stepped a half dozen members of the science club, following their beeping Geiger counters to the nearest stairwell. As their dinging faded away, Carl squeezed his eyes shut against falling beads of anxious sweat. _But then where does the tap dance routine come in? I'd have to –_

A flash of white hot pain interrupted Carl's scheming. He'd smacked his nose hard against the box after slamming into two tall boys. The three of them tumbled against a locker and crashed onto the floor. "Scapula," Carl weakly moaned while rubbing his back.

The two older students rose to their feet. The larger of the two, wearing a backwards baseball cap and sporting the feeblest wisps of a mustache, glowered at Carl. "Are you blind, freshie?"

The shorter boy swiped mahogany bangs from his eyes before rubbing his temple. "Will you please stop saying that? Sixth graders aren't freshmen and we're not seniors. You have to deal with that."

The taller boy dug his nails into his palms but otherwise ignored his friend. "Answer the question, sixthie!"

"That's even worse, Mark," the shorter boy protested.

"Ahem," an intimidating female voice accosted the trio. Carl and the eighth-graders turned to find Libby Folfax breaching the small crowd that had formed. She glared at Carl's audience, and they fearfully dispersed. As they left, she crossed her arms and turned towards the eighth graders. "Is there a problem here?"

Carl tried to clutch his box, but his trembling fingers sabotaged that effort. He could only watch as Mark sized Libby up. Carl noted her unusual attire – a grey tank top and shorts had replaced her normally vibrant wardrobe. They clung to sweat-soaked skin, and her breaths came hard and fast.

Mark flashed the girl a confident smirk. "Probably," he answered Libby. He crossed his own arms and reflected her posture.

"So we're fighting girls now?" Mark's friend asked. "Is this what we've become?" He clasped Mark's shoulder and wisely whispered, "Whenever anyone has offended me, I try to raise my soul so high that offense cannot reach it."

Libby and Carl shared a befuddled glance as Mark knocked his friend's hand away. "Will you stop philosophizing? You're thirteen years-old!"

Mark's sage friend simply arched his back and combated his withering gaze. "Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories."

"What does that even mean?" Mark screamed while splaying his arms. "Wait," he cried while stumbling back. Libby and Carl cocked their heads as Mark stared at his hands, examining all of who he was. "Are these dark thoughts my own enemy?"

"Um," Carl rose a hand, "can we go?"

Mark turned to Carl, glanced around the emptying hallway, and finally shook his head. "Sure, whatever." He rubbed his temple and started to walk away. "I've got some pondering to do."

His friend watched him for a moment, then smiled nervously at Libby and Carl. "Sorry about that. Merry Christmas." He bore his gaze into Libby's confused eyes, then added, "Ma'am."

Carl watched the teens go, then asked Libby, "What just happened?"

"I have no idea," Libby said while grabbing Carl's arm and hoisting him up. "Are you alright?"

"Because of you," Carl answered. "Thanks, Libby."

Libby grinned and shrugged as the two of them resumed their march down the hallway. "Guess I can't quit cold turkey."

"Huh?"

Libby shook the thought from her head. "Never mind." She tucked her hands underneath her backpack's straps and stared at the enormous box Carl was struggling to maneuver. "What's in that thing, anyway? Props for a play?"

"Not exactly," Carl answered. As he remembered why he was lugging that enormous package around, his anxiety returned. His thoughts seemed to coil around his lungs and squeeze out the air; he felt his throat closing and contemplated yanking out his inhaler.

"So," Libby interrupted his fretful thoughts, "what is it?"

Carl sighed and leaned against a nearby wall. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Well, I did used to have a gossip show," Libby said with a playful grin. She smiled wider while adding, "And I got fired because it was too gossipy!" Carl slowly frowned, so Libby promised, "But I'll keep this one." She noticed how haggard Carl's breaths were and yanked the box from him. "And use your inhaler already."

Carl nodded and took a puff of precious albuterol. "The thing is, I kind of have a crush on Angie."

Libby's hazel eyes widened in surprise. "From Ms. Fowl's class?" Carl nodded while pocketing his inhaler, and Libby began to picture the blonde-haired girl with the rectangular glasses. She started to imagine her and Carl together, but the heavy box in her arms abruptly dragged those happy thoughts from her head. "Wait a minute," she mumbled while jerking her head at the package in her arms. "Who gave you this?"

"Well," Carl explained while tapping his chin, "I talked to Sheen yesterday, and he said he had the perfect -"

"No!" Libby cried while spinning the box around. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and dilated her pupils as she took in the three letters scrawled before her.

The bell abruptly rang, and Carl tried to yank the box away from her. "Libby, I have to get to class," he protested as Libby refused to surrender the package.

"No you don't!" she shouted while ripping the box away and marching into a nearby empty classroom.

"Hey!" Carl cried while following Libby. She kicked the door shut behind them and slammed the box onto the teacher's desk.

"You are not," she nearly snarled through clenched teeth, "using the grand romantic gesture kit."

Carl blinked twice in slow succession. "You know about the G.R.G. kit?"

"I've lived it every day for a year, Carl!" Libby snapped. She started pacing around the front of the room; Carl could only stand in place and watch. "Grand romantic gestures are a **terrible idea**. Trust me, you don't want to do this."

"Why?" Carl sincerely asked. He took a seat in the front row, and Libby hopped on top of the teacher's desk. "You're with Sheen, and he does them all the time. So they must work." Carl shrugged and asked, "Right?"

Libby rubbed her jaw before clearing her throat. "Grand romantic gestures only work for Sheen for two reasons. One," she held up an index finger, "at the core of it all, he's sweet." Carl watched Libby's eyes glaze over with an unseen memory. She wistfully whispered, "He really is." Her normal tone returned as she added, "But the bigger reason is that, like G.R.G.s, Sheen is completely insane.

"I mean, look at this stuff," Libby opened the box and started pulling out random items. "Fireworks, mistletoe, tap shoes," Libby set them all beside her and gazed back inside the box. Her jaw dropped as she yanked out two silver canisters. "Tear gas? Why would you need this?!"

"Those are new," Carl repeated Sheen's explanation from that morning. "They're to make the audience weep tears of joy."

"Look," Libby explained, "if you do some huge empty gesture, it's not going to reflect who you are. You're not Sheen. You're Carl."

Carl considered that advice for a long moment. He stared at the array of items on the teacher's desk, then rubbed his arms. He finally whispered, "But…who's that?"

Libby hopped off the desk and sat in the chair besides Carl. "What do you mean?"

Carl sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Sheen is wacky and fun. Jimmy's smart. Nick is cool. Ike's…" Carl struggled to describe his newest friend.

"A badass," Libby admitted with only the faintest adumbration of a swoon.

"Yeah," Carl agreed. He faced Libby and asked, "But I'm just a dork." He cast his eyes at the desk, then motioned at the box. "Don't I need that for Angie to like me?"

"Nope," Libby immediately answered. Carl sat quietly and stared at the box. After a moment, he felt Libby's studious eyes appraising him. He faced her, and she settled a hand on his shoulder.

"Carl, you are loyal, and kind, and sincere. Maybe you're not the coolest or smartest or funniest kid," Libby squeezed his shoulder, "but you've got the biggest heart. I know that if I ever needed you, you'd be there. All you need is to be yourself," Libby summed up. "And if she doesn't like that guy, then she's not worth having. So don't do what Sheen would do. Do what you would do."

Carl wrung his hands together as Libby pulled hers away. "Wow," he whispered. He cast Libby a gracious glance and softly said, "Thanks, Libs."

"Anytime," Libby easily answered. "So," she asked while hopping out of her seat, "what is it that Carl Wheezer would do?"

He took a deep breath, then said, "I want to make something for her. I have free period next – I could make a card."

"There you go," Libby said with a smile.

"And I want to tell her why I like her. I always loved those glasses," Carl said with a dreamy gaze. "They're so...rectangular."

"Okay," Libby cautiously agreed. "That's a nice thought."

"Oh!" Carl eagerly squeaked while rising from his seat. "She's always complaining about how cold winter is. Maybe Ike could help me sneak into the principal's office and raise the school's temperature a bit!"

Libby sat in silence for a moment. "That's bordering on a G.R.G., but I guess it shows you listen to her." Libby nodded in approval. "Go for it!"

Carl took a deep breath and nodded to himself. He took one step towards the door, then cast a glance back at Libby. "Do you really think she'll like me?"

"Carl," Libby began, "do you truly like her?"

"Yeah," he immediately answered. "I really do."

Libby placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're a great guy, Carl. So yeah, I think she'll like you back."

"Thanks, Libs," Carl said. He wavered for just a moment before wrapping his friend in a tight embrace.

"Alright, ya big lug," Libby clapped his back before gently pushing him away. "Good luck, and let me know how it turns out."

"I sure will. Hey," Carl offered, "can I treat you to the petting zoo this weekend?

"Um," Libby was about to agree, but pulled back at the last moment. "Do you think we could grab a shake instead?"

"Sure!" Carl eagerly agreed while scooping everything back into the G.R.G. kit. "Whatever you want! See ya!"

"See ya," Libby happily said while watching Carl disappear into the corridor. Once he was gone she shook her head, grinned to herself, and mumbled, "Guess I'm making Sheen proud." With that said she began whistling her way down the hall.


	4. Twin Pillars

_**10:13 a.m.**_

With each step forward, the sounds and smells of woodshop faded further into obscurity. Gone went the hard shrill of the table saw and musky scent of sawdust. In their place stood a hastily cobbled together set of swinging saloon doors. Libby halted before them and rapped her knuckles three times against the flimsy pine.

The top of Butch's head peaked over the doors. "Password?" the bulky rapscallion asked.

"Adeste Fideles," Libby meticulously repeated the pronunciation Ike had long ago taught her.

The double doors swung open, and Libby stepped into Retroville Middle School's not entirely secret saloon. Libby glanced around; nothing had changed since her last visit. The construction was shoddy all-around; she supposed this couldn't be helped considering the furniture was mostly assembled by twelve year-olds. Two round mahogany tables rested in the near corners of the room; one was being cleaned by a whistling Bolbi. Each table was flanked flanked by two currently empty chairs. Straight ahead lay the saloon's bar, behind which stood Ike Burke polishing a Glencairn glass. Save for the three employees and Libby, the place was deserted.

"Well," Ike said with an easy smile as Libby turned towards the coat rack near the door, "if it ain't my favorite buckle bunny."

Libby stared at the four different cowboy hats hanging from the rack. She selected a russet gambler, tucked her braids up, and nestled the hat over them. As it slid into place and she listened to "The Irish Rag" blaring from Ike's hidden iPod, Libby found herself easily tumbling back through time. She landed square in the 1880s, and if only for a moment her troubles were left behind in the new millenium. She tipped her hat's brim at Butch and gave a slight nod at Bolbi.

"You're singing a nice song," Libby said while approaching the bar and hopping atop a stool. "And momma does love to hear that tune."

Ike huffed in amusement and set the glass down between them. "The usual?" Libby nodded, so Ike grabbed a decanter from the shelf behind him and poured two fingers of a brown liquid. He pushed it towards Libby, who scooped it up and downed half the glass in a single gulp.

"That's ace-high prairie dew," Libby purred while slamming the glass down. She immediately cringed and released her grasp.

Ike stared in concern as she grabbed her right wrist. "You alright? Too many hours on the dusty trail?"

"Don't be addle-headed," Libby gruffly shot back. Her tone softened as she released the grip on her wrist. "Permission to drop the personas?"

"Granted," Ike said while refilling Libby's glass.

"I just spent the past two periods typing like a madwoman. I had to write our whole group paper on The Civil War since my partners got the flu. It was rough." Libby took another sip from her drink before shrugging and adding, "But I guess worse for them."

Ike frowned while wiping down the bar. "Who were your partners?"

"Brittany and Rose," Libby answered.

Ike let out a slow breath and arched his back. "I ain't no slangander, but you deserve the truth. Those gals don't have the flu."

Libby pulled the glass away from her lips at the last second. "What?"

"They spent all of second period here! They said they were the ones working like crazy since homeroom because their partner ditched. I even cut three bucks off their tab because of that sob story."

Libby watched her knuckles blanch as she squeezed the glass tight. After a long moment she set the glass down, rubbed her forehead, and mumbled, "Well ain't that a kick in the head."

Ike watched as Libby solemnly resumed sipping her drink. "Hard case coffee boilers," he finally shot back, earning a quick smirk from his friend. Yet she didn't meet his eyes, not even as he said, "You should tell the teacher if it bothers you that much."

"You're all down but nine," Libby said downing the last dregs of apple juice. She turned the glass upside down and slid it towards Ike.

He leaned on the table separating them. "Libs," he said, and Libby stared into his sunglasses. He took them off and set them atop the table. "I can offer you the same two things I have since the day we became friends. A stiff drink," he said while holding up the glass, "and a kind ear."

Libby closed her eyes and offered a small smile. "Thanks," she quietly whispered.

Ike leaned back and stared at the girl for a long moment. Then, he quietly uttered, "But I guess those two things aren't always enough."

Libby nodded and reached into her pocket. "Maybe not," she said while pulling out a five dollar bill, "but they're always appreciated. Next round's on me. Two glasses of top shelf sangaree."

Ike straightened his posture and said, "I try not to imbibe while tending post."

For the first time, frustration shot across Libby's eyes. "It's just juice, Ike." She took a calming breath before flashing a droll smile. "Bend an elbow with me."

Ike sighed and grabbed two highball glasses. "Fine. But only since you're a Simon pure gal." He turned around and stared at the shelf of juices and supplies. He grabbed a bottle of Welch's and his spice rack. Into each glass went a sugar cube, pinch of nutmeg, and large pour of grape juice. He stirred both with a plastic spoon, then offered Libby her cocktail.

"To doing what we can," Ike offered while raising his glass.

"To doing more than we should," Libby glumly said while clinking hers.

Both kids took a sip, and Libby felt Ike silently appraising her. She once more met his gaze, when their eyes locked he set his glass down. "You know what you need?" he offered. Once more, the friends effortlessly slid out of the Western era. She shook her head, so he added, "You should hit the gym."

"You calling me fat?" Libby tempered her temper, giving Ike the benefit of the doubt.

"Please," Ike couldn't keep his eyes from quickly scanning Libby up and down. "Opposite day was last Friday. I meant that it might raise your spirits more than sitting and drinking. Get the blood and endorphins flowing."

Libby considered the advice while taking another sip of juice. "Maybe," she offered after a moment.

"Just trust me," Ike said while downing the rest of his glass. "It'll work."

Libby finished her own drink and smiled at her friend. "Thanks, Ike. I think I'll give it a shot."

The easy comraderie was broken by three sharp knocks on the saloon's doors. Butch sidled over to his post and asked, "Password?"

"We don't need no stinkin' password!" Came the high pitched and nasally response. "This is the R.M.P.E.P.L.A.R.P. and we got a tip about an illegal establishment!"

Libby let out a tired sigh and asked, "What the heck is the Rimpeplarp?"

Ike immediately growled out his answer. "The Retroville Middle School Prohibition Era Police Live Action Role Players." He then turned towards the door and shouted, "You all best skedaddle. Your kind ain't welcome here!"

"And why not?" the unseen response seemed to be played at double speed.

"Becaiuse this is a Western establishment! We can't have clashing motfis! Go catch some bank robbers at the school store or something!"

"Look!" the annoyed voice shot back. "You've got twenty seconds to open the door, see? Or we're coming in shooting!"

Ike grit his teeth and unholstered the Nerf Maverick revolver on his hip. He effortlessly spun it around in the air and grabbed its barrel. "Libs," he said while offering her the butt of the weapon, "take French leave out the back and get to the gym. We'll fight like Kilkenny cats here."

"Ike," Libby moaned, "I really don't care about this right now."

Ike roughly grabbed Libby's shoulder and pulled her close; her expression didn't move an inch. "I know," he gruffly whispered. "Which is why I'm telling you to run!" he suddenly roared.

Ike reached under the counter and produced a CS-18 Rapidstrike; he tossed the rifle to Butch who immediately racked the slide. Ike then pulled out his own SledgeFire shotgun and broke open the barrel.

"Five!" the annoying voice from beyond the saloon shouted. "Four!"

Ike ensured a shell was loaded, whipped the weapon with his wrist to close the barrel, and turned to Libby. "Go!"

Libby sighed and watched as Bolbi came running out of the small back room carrying a Vulcan EBF-25. He opened the tripod and set the enormous machine gun on the bar beside Ike. "Bolbi save day!" he said while flipping the power switch and swiveling the weapon towards the door.

Libby took one last look around, shook her head, and took two steps back towards the saloon doors. As they burst open behind her, Libby sprinted towards the bar. She placed her injured wrist atop the rickety frame and vaulted over the top as whistler darts screamed past her ears.

"You're all under arrest!" Libby heard while sliding sliding underneath the shelf of fine juices.

"We ain't throwin' up the sponge!" Ike roared back as she rose to her feet before the Woodshop's rear emergency door. She kicked it open with all her strength and stumbled out into the hallway. Frenzied shouts and the sound of automatic dart fire spilled out the open door. Libby could waste no worry for those she'd left behind, for four sixth graders rounded the corner with CS-35 Tommy Guns in hand.

"Hate this school," Libby grumbled while aiming her revolver. Two shots put the first two shocked victims down. She swiveled her gun to the third girl, but her bloodcurdling scream gave Libby pause.

"Tom! Jim!" she screeched while falling to her knees. She crawled towards the nearest motionless boy and felt for his pulse. She snapped her gaze at Libby, tear-riddled mascara raining down her cheek. "They had a son!"

"Come on! They're twelve years-old!" Libby shouted back while angrily motioning at the wench.

"CPR!" the girl screamed while climbing on top of Jim's chest and pushing on his sternum. The sound of bones breaking made Libby swivel her head in shocked disgust, but this only leveled her gaze at the last girl who was breaking chicken bones in half for the sound effect.

"We are very committed to realism," the last girl explained as her friend pumped away on Jim's chest.

"I'm done," Libby dropped her revolver and hat on the ground as she strolled past the chaos.

* * *

Libby took two detours on her way to the gym. She grabbed her gym clothes from her locker, then changed inside a nearby bathroom. After glancing at her grey attire in the mirror, she splashed a handful of water on her face. "Alright, girl," she told herself while heading back to the hallway. "Sort this all out."

Libby walked up to the gym's double doors, reached out for the handle, and pulled back as they were thrown open with violent force. Libby stumbled backwards and fell onto the ground.

"Really!" Libby winced while grabbing her wrist. "You can't watch where you're going?!" she shouted while staring up at the idiot before her. Seeing Sheen as the perpetrator was a bit of a shock, but she was more surprised by the twin bloody tissues clogging his nostrils. "Sheen? What the heck happened to you!"

"Don't worry!" her boyfriend screeched while offering her a hand. They clasped each other's wrists and Sheen hoisted Libby to her feet. "I'm sure we'll find out soon!"

"What the heck does that mean?"

Sheen shook his head and then briefly clutched his temple. "Sorry, Liara," he earnestly apologized. "The nurse said I'm still recovering from a 'possible concussion'," he said with airquotes, "and an 'undiagnosed mental disorder.'" Sheen stared at Libby's sullen face and asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"That obvious, huh?" Libby asked.

"To me? Yeah!" Sheen happily answered. "So what's up, Libbalicious?"

"I was going for a run around the school," Libby motioned at her attire. "Care to join?"

"Well," Sheen tapped his chin, "I am woozy from blood loss and Coach Gruber already made me run twenty laps. But you want to?"

"Yeah," Libby rubbed the back of her neck, "but we could -"

"I'm on it!" Sheen shouted while yanking open the gym's doors and dashing inside. Libby watched him race towards the exit to the outside world and shook her head, though she couldn't quite shake the smile imbuing her lips.

* * *

The cold weather outside was a blunt shock given Libby's scant attire, but she quickly found it soothing after a few minutes of jogging. Her initial sprints had been somewhat successful in shedding her poisonous thoughts, but they had also left a struggling sheen behind. After a moment she had slowed her pace, and the two were currently stride in stride.

 _And here we are again_ , Libby thought while wiping a few drops of sweat from her brow. _Libby wanting to pull ahead of the pack and getting yanked right back. Maybe I should have just stayed and defended the saloon with Ike._ Libby closed her eyes in frustration as she asked herself, _but that would just be more of the problem, right? So how the heck –_

"You're quiet!" Sheen's frantic shout shattered Libby's thoughts.

"I guess I am," Libby answered as she led the way around the school's corner.

"Can we talk about it?" Sheen wheezed.

Libby turned towards Sheen and noticed he was dangerously out of breath. She came to a halt and barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. Sheen gasped a few lungfuls of air as Libby leaned against the school's brick wall. "There's not much to talk about," she lied. "Brittany and Rose screwed me over."

"How?" Sheen asked.

"We were supposed to finish our history project," Libby explained. "But they decided it would be more fun to ditch me and drink discounted juice."

"Huh?" Sheen inquired.

"The Woodshop Saloon," This time Libby's eyes went round and round. Annoyance boiled over to aggression as Libby said, "Get a clue, Sheen."

Libby closed her eyes so she wouldn't see the aching betrayal she knew was spreading over Sheens' face. After a second she heard his footsteps, and she watched him start to jog away.

"Hey!" Libby shouted while racing after him. "Stop!"

"What?" Sheen innocently asked while spinning around and running back towards her. "You want to run. It will make you feel better."

"Yeah, but you need to rest!" Sheen kept jogging in place, so she lurched forward and grabbed his arm. She yanked him hard, and they both tumbled against the wall.

"Libby," Sheen nervously said as she slid down to the ground. She leaned her forehead against her knees and shielded her eyes. "I want to help -"

"Just don't!" Libby's eyes brimmed with tears and she slammed them shut. Water rushed against the dam she kept closed. "Don't be like me!"

Libby's vision stayed dark as she clenched her hands into fists; her right wrist throbbed in response. After a moment of silence, she looked up to find Sheen sitting across from her. Posture reflected, he hugged his knees tight. "Libs," he stoically whispered, "it's me. What's wrong?"

Libby took a stabilizing breath. As her soul wavered, her next words kept steady. "I'm wrong, Sheen. I feel like I give so much of myself, I have nothing left of me." She noticed Sheen furrow his brow in a show of obfuscation.

Libby felt a surge of anger and went on in a mocking tone, "Sure Cindy, I'll miss a family dinner to hear you whine about your mom. No problem Brittany, I can be the one to write our five page paper. Can do, Jimmy!" she shouted in mocking elation. "I'll be late to class and lug your stupid Neutronian Time Accelerator into the basement." Searing ire bolstered her movements as she pointed at her eyes. "I came out of there this morning with crow's feet!"

Sheen's gaze nervously darted to the basement's windows; he realized that the flood waters had receded. "Um, did you turn it off?"

"That's not the point!" Libby snapped. "I feel like all of who I am is helping someone else. I need to stop it; to not be everyone's punching bag. But if I do that…am I even still me? Am I even a good person?"

Libby breathed in and out; oxygen filled her empty lungs. Then, without warning, Sheen laughed. As with Ike, Sheen had earned the benefit of the doubt. But this show of faith was waning fast. "What the hell is so funny?"

Sheen jumped to his feet and shoved a triumphant index finger towards the sky. "This is perfect timing, Libby! I just learned today that I'm weird!"

Libby clenched her teeth and rose to her own two feet. "First of all, how did you only learn that today. And second of all, what?"

Sheen excitedly grabbed Libby's shoulders and insanely smiled. "I'm weird, Libby! And Nick's cool, Jimmy's smart, and you're nice! Too nice," he clinched his diatribe with surprising serenity. "That's who we all are, but it can't be all of who we are."

Libby shook her head and rubbed her temple. "What are you trying to say?"

"I mean," Sheen went on, a snip of frustration creeping into his tone, "that we can't let one thing..." he struggled to find the right word and calmly settled on, "define us. If Jimmy's only smart, he becomes..."

Libby remembered one of Cindy's old insults. "An egotistical jerk," she offered.

"Exactly!" Sheen eagerly agreed. "And if I'm pure nonsense, I'm an annoying idiot! But if I'm just a little weird but can be other things too," Sheen once again trailed off, lacking the right words.

"Then you're an eccentric but sweet boyfriend," Libby's words warmed as she began to understand his point.

"And if you give everything you have, there's nothing left," Sheen told her. "But if you give what you can and take care of yourself, you'll only have more to offer," Sheen told her.

Libby slowly blinked; it wasn't easy to come to grip with the fact that Sheen was making valid points.

"Hey," Sheen said while touching her shoulder. She stared deep into his brown eyes, which seemed to flash with wisdom. "Do you know why I love you?"

"Yeah," she solemnly answered. She dropped her eyes and said, "Because of Jimmy's love potion."

"No," Sheen strongly said while shaking her shoulder. "Well, maybe," he admitted, and Libby narrowed her eyes. "But, I kept loving you because of how nice you were to me that day. And I keep loving you every day because, deep down," Sheen smiled at Libby, "you're the kind of person I want to be. Even if you can't see it right now, you're perfect to me."

In that moment, all of Libby's agony shattered. She felt the constant tug on her chest loosen, and felt her breaths coming easier. "Sheen," Libby smiled and hugged her boyfriend, "thank you."

"No problem," Sheen squeezed her back and smiled as she pulled away. "You know what you should do?"

"What?" Libby asked while planting a playful hand on her hip.

"Don't help anyone else today. Just do whatever it takes to be happy. And tomorrow, we'll figure out how to balance it all out. Deal?"

Libby smiled and nodded. "Deal, but on one condition. Right now, before I start all that, we do what you want to do. So what's that, Sheen?" With confidence bolstered by newly invigorated love, she placed a flirtatious hand on Sheen's cheek and leaned towards him.

"Right now," Sheen whispered while placing a hand on her waist, "I want to go back to the nurse." He squeezed her waist tight, then crumpled onto the sidewalk. "I hurt."

"Oh, no," Libby moaned while nervously looking around. With a shrug, she slung Sheen over her shoulder and headed back inside. "I'll take you there, but only if you give me that kiss later. Deal?"

Voice weak with dehydration, Sheen whispered, "Deal."


	5. Hitting The Mark

_**9:29 a.m.**_

For the dozen boys changing inside their locker room, a cloud of surging ire was steadily mingling with the air of burgeoning body odor. The source of this exasperation was a happily whistling Sheen, currently clad only in Ultralord boxer shorts. The rest of the boys turned to a shirtless Nick, who sighed and tapped Sheen on the shoulder.

"Hey Estevez," Nick calmly grumbled as the spastic teen faced him. "What's with the music?"

Sheen, earnestly overjoyed by Nick's interest, beamed back. "I feel like a giant weight's been lifted off my shoulders!"

Nick crossed his arms. "I'd ask if it was you finally getting over Ultralord," Nick motioned at the teen's boxers, "but that's clearly not it."

"No!" Sheen ferociously snapped, causing his classmates to pull back. "I was being literal! I was lugging my grand romantic gesture kit around all morning trying to find Carl. That thing weighs twenty-five pounds!"

Nick sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You know what? Normally I'd say 'That's idiotic, Shine.' But since tomorrow's winter break," Nick offered Sheen a half-grin and clapped him on the shoulder, "I'll say merry Christmas, Sheen."

Sheen's eyes doubled in size as he stared at the boy with puppy dog bliss. "Wow. Thanks, Nick!"

Nick merely grinned and led the other boys out of the locker room, leaving Sheen to whistle away as he slipped on his gym clothes.

* * *

A sharp whistle caused the two dozen boys and girls to cover their ears. "Al-right!" Coach Gruber's grumbly voice roared throughout the gymnasium. The one teacher who had graduated to Retroville Middle School along with the sixth graders grasped an unseen object behind his back. "The name of the game is…"

Gruber let a dramatic pause hang in the air while he slowly revealed a volleyball. "Volleyball! And you're all going to volley! That! Ball! Volley it!" Gruber roared while chucking the ball at Betty, who narrowly dodged the missile.

"The next kid who doesn't hit that thing runs ten laps around the building!" Gruber screamed. "Now, pick teams. Betty and Bolbi, you're captains. Get to leading!"

Betty jogged and Bolbi awkwardly lumbered in front of the other children. "Courtney!" Betty said while pointing at the umber skinned girl.

Bolbi tapped his chin before jabbing towards Sheen. "Sheen is tall one!"

The entire class cocked their heads, unsure if this merited selecting Sheen for his team. Gruber at last said, "Estevez, you're up!"

Sheen's already jubilant expression infinitesimally multiplied at being a first round pick. "Sweet Ultralord, the righteous have finally won their just desserts!"

The rest of the class was quickly divvied up as Sheen bounced back and forth on the balls of his heels. Six students from Bolbi's team then faced off against a half dozen from Betty's. Sheen took his position as the middle blocker and began jumping in place.

"Alright, everybody! Volley! That! Ball!" Gruber blasted his whistle, and Betty served the ball. It went soaring over the net, and Sheen immediately and acrobatically leaped forward.

Gruber's whistle screeched as he pointed angrily at Sheen. "Estevez! This isn't gymnastics, no ring leaps! Tone it down!"

The coach ordered the teams to reset, then immediately signaled another foul after the next serve. "Sheen, watch the cat leaps!"

Another opening shot was immediately followed by a bleat from Gruber's whistle. "Estevez, side leaps are off limits! You're on thin ice, mister!"

Sheen continued flailing around with surprising grace as his classmates lost interest in the match. They simply stood motionless as Gruber called foul after foul.

"Watch that pike jump!"

"This ain't a zoo, no wolf jumps either!"

"If you do another tour jeté, it's straight to the principal!"

"Don't you dare do a sissone!" Gruber screamed in a flawless French accent.

Bolstered by adrenaline and rapidly waning acceptance from his peers, Sheen jumped straight forward. He successfully extended both legs straight in the air but fumbled the landing. His right foot slipped after the demi plié, sending Sheen tumbling face-first on the floor. He landed with a sickening **crack**. All kids save for one groaned and turned their heads in disgust.

Gruber angrily turned to the one smiling girl. Clad in a red slouch hat, each hand held one half of a just-snapped chicken bone. "Sorry," the LARPer apologized while shoved the bones in her pants pocket.

The coach glared back at Sheen, who stumbled to his feet. The teen's nostrils were dribbling blood, so Gruber sighed. "Estevez, straight to the nurse's office. And once you're fixed up, twenty laps around the building for failing the landing!"

"I deserve that," Sheen admitted with a contrite nod.

"Who's escorting him to the nurse?" Gruber shouted. He began pointing at random children. "Is it you? Maybe you? How about you? Come on, let's see a volunteer!"

No one raised their hands, so Coach Gruber rolled his eyes. "Five points extra credit to whoever takes him!"

Ike glibly flipped up a palm. "Done."

"Alright you two, get outta here!" Gruber ordered. "Let's get two new players on the floor. And, serve!"

Ike grabbed Sheen's arm and gently tugged the woozy teen towards the gym's double doors. "Come on, Estevez."

The two teens exited the gymnasium. The squeak of sneakers on linoleum faded away, and both kids dredged towards the nurse's office. "So," Ike asked Sheen, "you ever think of toning it down? Maybe just ten percent?"

Sheen was silent; his good mood dripped away along with specks of blood from his nose. Ike watched the red drops splatter beneath them; he then eyed Sheen tilt his head backward. "Hang on," he told the teen while ducking into a nearby bathroom. Ike quickly emerged with a fistful of paper towels.

"Grab your nose with these," he instructed. "And lean your head forward. You'll swallow your blood otherwise."

Sheen did as he was told, and the two boys strolled past rows of lockers and classroom doors in silence. At last, Sheen quietly said, "Yeah."

Ike cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah what?"

"Yeah, I know I should tone it down." Sheen pinched his aching noise tighter and added, "I know it's my fault I got hurt."

Ike shrugged his shoulders as they neared the end of the hallway. "So, why don't you? Calm down, I mean."

"I know I should do it," Sheen admitted, "but it's," Sheen swallowed and hesitated, "just not easy to do."

Ike considered this as he and Sheen rounded the corner. The school's main stairwell loomed into view, and a dozen sopping wet kids angrily emerged from the basement. Sheen and Ike shared a guilty glance, and the sullen teen's face fell even further.

Ike let out a slow sigh before shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, you don't really need to go to the nurse this second, do you?"

"I don't know," Sheen slowly ventured. He used his free hand to rub his temple, then asked, "I think your name's Mike, right?"

Ike cocked his head and said, "Well it's…that's only one letter off. Good enough." Ike led Sheen towards the stairwell, careful to avoid eye contact with the grumbling students storming past them. "Come on, we've got a couple of stops to make."

"Where are we going?" Sheen asked.

Ike huffed and simply answered, "Up."

* * *

As Ike came to a halt before an access ladder to the school's roof, Sheen curiously pulled the paper towel away from his nose. He frowned as fresh bright blood still decorated the parchment. He tore the paper into two strips, then plugged each into a nostril.

As Sheen inspected his nose, Ike approached a simple wooden door beside the ladder. Were it not for the small green scanner beside it, the door would be utterly nondescript.

"What's in there?" Sheen asked.

Ike placed his thumb on the emerald device and answered, "Payment. For helping Jimmy get his steak back." He leaned towards a small microphone built into the wall above the scanner, then enunciated, "Amor Vincit Omnia." A sharp **click** was heard, and Ike pulled open the door.

As soon as the boy had placed a foot over the threshold, bright lights illuminated the room. Sheen followed his classmate, and his jaw dropped as soon as he entered the modified classroom. Gone were any desks or chairs. In their place rested various mannequins outfitted with bandoliers, pistol holsters, and tactical vests. Surrounding these dummies were six glass display cases, two built into each wall before the boys.

"Great Robofiend's ghost," Sheen muttered while staring at the nearest translucent cabinet. Twelve various dart pistols rested on silver hooks in the wall. Brilliant white light illuminated them from a single bulb above. Sheen rested a twitching hand on the glass that shielded him from the weapons. His eyes were then drawn to a small red button on the side of the display case. His index finger inched towards the alluring switch, but he hesitated at the last second. "Are these all yours?"

"About two-thirds are," Ike explained while approaching a case on the wall opposite Sheen. "I share this space with some annoying LARPers." He cocked his head at the eight missing CS-35 rifles. "Gonna have a busy day," Ike grumbled before turning towards Sheen. He watched the boy stare at the pistols with drooling desire.

Sheen's finger was still hovering over the button as Ike's voice carried from behind him. "Go ahead." The bleeding boy turned around to find Ike marching towards one of the mannequins. The boy gently pulled a tactical vest off of the dummy before strolling over to another case filled with spare magazines. "That's why we're here."

Needing no further encouragement, Sheen pushed the bottom. The glass casing retracted with a satisfying **hiss** and disappeared up into the ceiling. Sheen grabbed a Negotiatior blaster off its hooks, pulled back the hammer, and aimed the gun across the room. Smile spreading over his lips, he eagerly moved to the next case which housed a dozen rifles.

Sheen's eyes settled on the Lawbringer. He cocked his head at the seductively jagged stock, filled to the brim with twelve spare darts. "This is insane," Sheen muttered while opening the case and pulling that weapon down.

"Yeah," Ike agreed while opening his own display case and ripping spare magazines down from the wall. He then opened one of three mahogany drawers and stared down at an even hundred suction darts. He couldn't help but brag, "I'm a heck of a negotiator." His mind drifted back to that felonious night with Neutron, and he somberly added, "I did almost lose my leg, though."

Ike blinked the harsh memory away, then turned towards Sheen. The teen was marveling at an array of sniper rifles. "Grab that Centurion and whatever else you can carry. We ship out in three."

"Ship out where?" Sheen asked while using both hands to yank down the meter-long gun. He leaned it against his shoulder and decided to grab a Rampage rifle with his free hand. He dangled that carbine by his side as Ike joined him, a Firefly REV-8 pistol in each palm.

"I told you," Ike said while marching past Sheen. "Up."

* * *

Sheen struggled to groan as he clamped his teeth harder down on the Alien Menace blade between his teeth. His right shoulder ached as he reached up to the ladder's last rung – the Rampage and Centurion precariously dangled from slings on that limb.

"Come on," Ike instructed from the roof above while offering Sheen his palm.

Sheen grabbed the ladder with his left hand and struggled to hand over one rifle at a time with his right. Ike grabbed them both, then hoisted the boy up. He immediately spit out the knife and collapsed on the harsh cement. In between haggard breaths, Sheen stared at his surroundings. They'd emerged in the dead center of the roof. Four enormous cooling units lay twenty meters in each direction. Each boasted a spray painted bullseye – the rings alternated between red and white.

Ten meters away, perfectly spaced in between each of the AC towers, stood white target dummies. Sheen took a puzzled step towards the northeast dummy – he couldn't comprehend why the mannequins were clad in white pinstripe suits and brown fedoras.

"Here," Ike handed him the Rampage. Sheen accepted the rifle and Ike knelt down on the concrete beneath them. "Aim for the northern AC unit," Ike kept his gaze on the weapons before him and arranged them into neat rows.

Sheen nodded and studied the long gun in his grasp. He cocked his head at the drum clip locked onto the left of the rifle, then settled his right hand along the rear grip. As his index finger wrapped around the trigger, he used his left hand to steadily grab the forward grip. "Let's make Ultralord proud," he smiled while hoisting the gun up. He settled the stock against his shoulder, pumped the forward handle, and aimed the weapon at the bullseye.

Sheen blasted a dart, which fell halfway through its journey and hit the bottom of the AC unit. Despite clearly missing his target, Ike told sheen, "Nice. That rifle dips at thirty-five feet, so you have to take that into account. Would have been a bullseye with a real gun."

Sheen smoothly pumped the forward grip one more time, adjusted his aim upwards, and fired a dart that just missed the center of his mark.

Ike watched as Sheen grinned and let loose a barrage of rounds, three of which slammed dead center. The tall teen then crouched down, marched towards the nearest mannequin, and loosed three darts center of mass.

"Try the Centurion," Ike instructed while strolling to the roof's western wall. As he passed the AC along his way, he grabbed onto a small foam cooler hidden along its side. He lugged it the rest of the journey, then hopped atop the wall. He sat with his back to the city below and watched Sheen grab the enormous sniper rifle.

"That thing will clear eighty feet easy," Ike instructed while scrounging around in his pocket. He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and placed one square between his lips. As it dangled in place, he yanked out a Zippo lighter. He grinned as Sheen unfolded the weapon's bipod and cycled the rifle's bolt.

A satisfyingly loud **rack-roosh** echoed over the roof as Sheen chambered an enormous Mega Dart. Sheen beamed at Ike, who deadpanned, "I saw one of those take off a LARPer's leg once."

As Sheen pondered whether that was possible, Ike kissed the cigarette with his lighter's flame. He pocketed the Zippo, grasped the cig with trembling fingers, and held his breath for a long moment. As Sheen aimed the rifle at the AC unit, Ike yanked the tobacco from his lips and flicked it over the roof.

"So," Ike grumbled while pulling a foil packet of gum from his pocket. "What's got you so riled up today?"

Sheen fired his round, and the enormous dart dammed into the bullseye's center with ferocious speed. He leaned the enormous rifle against his shoulder. As the four and a half pound gun bore into his flesh, Sheen's easy grin faded away. He let Ike's question linger in the air, then realized that the boy deserved an answer.

Sheen sighed and faced Ike, who tossed the white gum into his mouth. "Who were your best friends at Lindbergh?"

Ike considered the query as he hopped off the roof. He approached the pile of weapons, scooped up a bright yellow REV-8, racked the slide, and shot a dart straight into a target dummy's forehead. "Nick," he finally answered while taking aim at the next mannequin. "Betty and I hung out a bit, too." He fired three quick darts center of mass, then turned to Sheen. "Why?"

Sheen scooped up the Lawbringer, cocked the hammer, and aimed at an AC unit. "Do you miss them?" Sheen asked while keeping his eyes on the target.

Ike waited for Sheen to take two shots that fell short, then accepted the rifle from the boy. He took three large steps forward, knelt down, and hit the target. "Well, "Ike answered, "I do have my first two periods with both of them. So not really."

Ike stood up, tossed the Lawbringer back to Sheen, and then quickly unholstered a Hammershot revolver from his hip. He cocked the hammer, aimed at the mannequin to Sheen's right, and hit it square in the neck. He fanned the hammer and unleashed four more rounds into the target's chest. Sheen watched as Ike reloaded five darts from the spares in his vest. As Ike slid the last suction dart into place, he asked Sheen, "Why? Do you miss Neutron and your gang?" After Sheen was quiet for a long moment, Ike handed him the weapon and said, "It's okay if you do."

Sheen was sullenly silent, then admitted, "It's just…we had all the same classes with Ms. Fowl. If they'd been in gym with me," Sheen looked into Ike's sunglasses, then mumbled, "someone would have volunteered to bring me to the nurse."

"I volunteered," Ike said while crossing his arms and chewing his gum.

"Only for the extra credit," Sheen said while absent-mindedly cocking and shooting the revolver at a cooling unit.

"Sheen," Ike said, "I would have taken you even if there wasn't extra credit. Just never do for free what you can get paid for." He motioned at the pile of guns and said, "Hence my armory."

Sheen cocked his head, unable to dispute that point. "Besides," Ike went on, "if you had all the same classes with your old gang? Yeah, one of them would have brought you to the nurse. But then you wouldn't be up here with me."

Sheen considered that while spinning the revolver around and handing it to Ike. After the boy accepted the weapon, Sheen sauntered over to the western roof and hopped atop its wall. "That's true," Sheen quietly said.

Ike holstered the pistol and followed the teen. "Sheen," Ike said while flipping open the cooler. He pulled out two crisp cans of Purple Flurp and handed one over. "If all you ever do is stick with the people you already know, you'll never meet anyone new."

"But," Sheen popped the tab and took a tiny sip of the bubbling liquid, "what if I'm too weird for anyone else to like me?"

Ike spit his gum over the roof's edge, then took a deep drag of his own drink. He stared at Sheen, but the teen lowered his gaze to the ground. Ike ripped off his sunglasses and set them down beside him. "Sheen," he confidently said, "you are by far the weirdest kid I have ever met. And I'm friends with Carl." Sheen's features fell, so Ike placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But," he went on, "look at me." He motioned at himself, and Sheen did as instructed. Ike took a deep breath and struggled to get out his next sentence with a single exhalation. "I'm a chain-smoking twelve year-old obsessed with the bible because a girl I loved in third grade abandoned me after we had Hawaiian Punch dropped on our heads at a dance." Ike sucked in a deep breath and asked, "Does that sound normal to you?"

"Nope," Sheen immediately answered with surprising confidence. Ike narrowed his eyes at the boy beside him but carried on with his speech.

"We're all messed up, Sheen," Ike told his friend. "In our own ways."

Sheen drummed his fingers against the can of soda as Ike quenched his thirst. He then faced Sheen, and this time the boys' eyes met. "You're veritably insane, I'm way too intense, Carl can be a chicken, and Butch is a bully. We're not perfect. But we're not…" Ike struggled for the right word before shrugging. "We're not losers either. You can be better, and so can I. But we're still good enough."

Sheen and Ike sat in silence for a long moment, sipping their drinks in tandem. Once the dregs were gone, Ike pulled out his cellphone. He frowned at the time, and then hopped off of the wall.

"I gotta get going," Ike said. "I'm pulling a shift in Woodshop next period." He slid the phone back in his pocket and stared at the pile of guns. "I'll grab all this later." He saw Sheen stare forelornlyat the weapons, then added, "Tell you what, Sheen. Any time you want to come back up here, just find me. We can squeeze in some more target practice."

"Really?" Sheen asked, eyes wide with delight. Ike nodded, so he added, "Thanks." He hesitated, then added, "For everything."

Ike smiled as the two boys walked towards the ladder. "No problem. So, you ready to run those laps?"

"Sure am, Mike!" Sheen excitedly chirped while racing past Ike and sliding down the ladder.

Ike rubbed his temple as he heard a painful **crash** down below. He grabbed the roof's hatch stepped onto the ladder. "We should probably stop by the nurse first," he mumbled while sealing the door and descending towards the freshly injured Sheen.


	6. Ego Meliorem Esse

Arms hanging loosely by his sides, Ike silently stood atop Retroville Middle School's roof. He took one step forward, a foot away from the ladder that had granted him access to this secluded spot. A gust of frigid December wind sent both palms curling into twin fists. Ike squinted his eyes against the cold; brows furrowed against his sunglasses.

Ike sighed as he ripped off the dark shades and shoved them inside a pocket. He took a moment to savor his newly pristine vision of the setting sun. Crimson rays accentuated a cloudless sky, but the pounding in his head muddied his appreciation for God's grace.

"Get to work," Ike muttered while stepping towards the nearest spent dart. He scooped it up and started forming a pile of guns and supplies. As the munitions multiplied and the quivering in his hands strengthened, he found his focus dissipating. With no principal's office to raid, with no buckle bunny to help, without a spastic teen to guide, there was nothing to keep his mind tethered to the present. As Ike gently placed his Maverick revolver onto the pile, his mind pulled away from him and tumbled into the past.

* * *

 **"Your turn, Ike," Ms. Robinson told the smiling eight year-old before her. Ike eagerly rose from his seat and moved to the front of the classroom, where a half dozen presents still lay underneath a beautifully decorated Christmas tree.**

 **"Whoa," Ike said while finding his gift. The box was nearly the size of his desk and easily dwarfed the other children's presents. Ike tore open the snowman-covered gift wrap, and in its place Ike saw four golden letters.** **"No way!"**

 **Ms. Robinson sighed as Ike eagerly displayed a Nerf Maverick revolver to the class. "I suppose someone didn't understand the concept of a $5 limit."**

 **In spite of his elation, Ike couldn't help but pay heed to the tiny card that fell onto the floor. He picked up the folded paper and flipped it open.**

 _ **Thanks for talking to me that first day. I thought I'd hate moving, but you made it suck less.**_

 _ **Your No Longer Secret Santa,**_  
 _ **Sandy**_

 **Ike stared at the desk in the rear corner of the room. He grinned as he spotted a ringlet of blonde curls. He offered a smile, and she freely grinned back.**

* * *

Ike used both hands to toss the heavy Centurion rifle atop his pile. He watched it bounce off the other weapons as the wind picked up and caressed his cheek. With an annoyed sigh, he rubbed his arms and cross the roof. He hopped atop its western wall and watched the sun clip towards the horizon. As the orange sky was became tinted with darkness, Ike pulled a packet of Marlboros from his pocket.

He eagerly yanked one cigarette out of the carton and clamped it between his lips. Hands steadying, he pulled out his Zippo and sucked in a lungful of freezing air. Ike suavely flipped and activated the lighter with a single move. He stared solemnly at the fire and clamped down harder on his cigarette.

Back and forth went the flame, dancing alone in the wind.

* * *

 **"Ahem," Ike cleared his throat while smoothing out the wrinkles on his ebony tuxedo jacket.**

 **Sandy simply smiled as she tugged at the hem of her peach dress. Both she and Ike glanced at Jack inside the DJ booth. The fourth grader flashed a grin and wink. Ike merely offered a leery stare back as the speakers near the booth abruptly switched tone. Gone went "Blitzkrieg Bop" and in its place came Presley's "Can't Help Falling in Love."**

" **You ever think Willoughby takes these dances too seriously?" Sandy asked the boy before her.**

" **Every year," Ike answered. Both teens shared a nervous grin as Ike rubbed the back of his neck. "But," he swallowed hard and stammered, "do you want to dance anyway?"**

" **No need to ask," Sandy answered while taking Ike's palm.**

* * *

Ike flipped his wrist and the lighter slammed closed. He tore the Marlboro from his lips; his movements tightened the knot in his stomach. "Thirty cents well spent," he mumbled while flicking the cigarette over the roof.

* * *

 _The basement door swung open as Ike finished the first of his morning smokes. Vision obscured by an enormous cardboard box, Sheen's right foot clipped the door's corner. The teen tumbled straight past him and his enormous box flew through the air into a nearby water pipe._

 _Accustomed to Sheen's pratfalls, Ike stoically asked, "Estevez?" Before the fallen boy could answer, Ike offered him a hand._

 _"Thanks!" Sheen shouted while clasping Ike's arm. After being hoisted up, he immediately scooped up his battered box and faced Ike. "Have you seen Carl? I've got to get this to him pronto!"_

 _"I think he's -"_

 _"It's time sensitive, Ike!" Sheen roared while gripping Ike's shoulders and shaking him mercilessly._

 _"Settle!" Ike roared while shoving Sheen away. Both kids exhaled sharply, and Ike glared before motioning at the box. "That for a project or something?"_

 _"If winning the heart of your beloved is a mere project than yes, Ike!" Sheen screamed at the top of his lungs._

 _The sound of rumbling metal interrupted their conversation, and both boys stared at the quivering pipe. Its vibrations tossed a dented valve onto the floor._

 _"I'll get this," Ike told Sheen. "And I don't know where Carl is. Just go find him if you need to."_

 _"Thanks!" Sheen chirped while heading down the basement's hallway. Ike scooped up the fallen valve and tried to screw it back in place. It immediately fell back onto the floor. Ike narrowed his eyes, repeated his efforts, and watched a few drops of water leak out. This time, however, the valve didn't fall._

 _"That'll probably be fine," Ike mumbled to himself while staring at the doorway across from him. He nervously looked around the hall, saw no other students, and then gathered his courage while heading over._

* * *

"Amor Vincit Omnia," Ike blankly muttered while opening his armory's door. The fluorescent lights above burst to life, and Ike slowly trudged towards the rifle display case. With the push of a button the glass wall retracted, allowing Ike to return his guns to their homes.

A few silent moments ticked by, and soon the last batch of weapons and supplies from the roof was in place. He took a step back from the final display case and glanced around the room. He managed a tired half grin at his secret lair, but that quickly faded as he approached the mannequin nearest the door.

Ike cocked his head at the twin pistol holsters on the mannequin's waist. He wondered if their blatant asymmetry was Sheen's handwork. Ike went to straighten the right-most revolver, but then pulled back at the last moment.

* * *

 **"Goodnight, Ike," Sandy happily chirped. She leaned sideways on her bed, right hand hovering before her bedside lamp.**

 **Ike settled into his sleeping bag on the floor and stared up at his best friend. He looked into her eyes, studied her freckles for the last time that night, and let his gaze settle on her new and adorably crooked incisors. "Goodnight. You think the tooth fairy will actually come this time?"**

 **Sandy shook her head in disgust. "I can't believe she couldn't find my house last time! And I still don't get why my mom kept apologizing for her. It wasn't her fault," Sandy shrugged. She lifted up her pillow and placed a newly lost molar underneath. "Split a soda at the Candy Bar tomorrow with the profits?"**

 **"You bet," Ike agreed.**

 **Sandy flipped off the lamp, and Ike lay flat on his back. He forced himself to stay awake, even as boredom and fatigue threatened to pull him into the depths of unconsciousness. At last, once Sandy had begun lightly snoring, he slowly sat up. After digging his allowance from this pajamas, Ike gently lifted up Sandy's pillow and exchanged her tooth for two crumpled dollar bills.**

* * *

 _Ike slowly pushed on the doorknob and peeked inside. The creaking of the door was quickly masked by a low grumbling. Ike tentatively stepped over the threshold and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent rays vanquished not only the darkness, but the frightening noise._

 _"Erggh," a new groan emerged from the front of the room. Ike cocked his head and approached the teacher's desk. He walked around the furniture, crouched on the floor, and flashed his awakening teacher a nervous grin._

 _"Ya gotta be kidding me," Ms. Wolf all but growled. She shook the sleep from her eyes, sending frayed shoulder-length brown hair tumbling in all directions. She lurched out her arms, gripped the side of her desk, and pulled herself up from her sleeping bag._

 _Ike stepped back and studied his instructor. Despite the premature wrinkles weathering her face, Ike couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her archaic beauty. A long pink nightgown wrapped around her scant frame, and her wild hair seemed to accentuate her burgeoning frustration._

 _"Morning," Ike cheerily said while leaning against the chalkboard._

 _"Look, Baritone," Ms. Wolf growled. Ike instinctively rubbed his voice box as Ms. Wolf went on. "What the hell have I told you about coming here before class? I barely get paid enough to deal with you idiots during work hours."_

 _Ike simply strolled to a locked wooden cabinet near Ms. Wolf's desk. He felt her eyes burrowing into his back as he knelt down on the floor. Ike reached his hand underneath the cabinet, found the silver key taped to its underside, and used it to unlock the door. He stared at the six bottles inside._

 _"I was just wondering what we'd be cooking with today," Ike explained while staring at the bottles of alcohol. "Are we making a vodka sauce? Some sherry chicken? Or maybe a bourbon chili?" Ike grabbed a rectangular bottle of Knob Creek and smiled at his teacher._

* * *

Ike grabbed a nearly empty bottle of Welch's from the shelf of juices. He twisted open the cap, sniffed the purple juice inside, and closed his eyes. "Nice nose, good blend of grapes with just a hint of citric acid." Always amused by his own antics, Ike managed a fleeting grin as he set the bottle on the bar before him.

He nervously rapped his fingers against the bar's hastily assembled frame, then looked out at his saloon. The four stools in front of him were empty now, but the ten dirty and scattered glasses told a story from an hour before. Another smile cross his lips as he reminisced about the laughs he had shared with Carl, Libby, Sheen, and Cindy after their insane day. He wondered once more where Neutron had disappeared to. Cindy would only relay to the curious kids that Jimmy had said he'd had something important to do.

His classmates had served as an adequate and welcome distraction. Yet his memories, a mere facsimile of their true selves, could not wholly suffice. The throbbing in his skull returned, and Ike felt beads of sweat drip onto his brow. He wiped them away, then swiped the half-empty pack of gum from his pocket. Two pieces sailed into his mouth, and Ike sucked every inch of their juice down his throat.

"Alone again," Ike mumbled while grabbing the last clean Glencairn glass from his stock. He poured himself a dram of Mott's, swirled the few drops of brown liquid around, and watched it coat the sides before coalescing once more into a tiny puddle.

"Cheers to me," Ike said while lifting his glass to the empty room.

* * *

 **"Cheers to us!" Sandy loudly shouted while wrapping her hand around the single glass of soda between her and Ike.**

 **Seated across from her in their usual booth at the Candy Bar, Ike clasped his right hand over both the tumbler and Sandy's fingers. The two children lifted the soda high up in the air, and Ike nervously echoed her cheer.**

 **Boy and girl settled their drink back on the table and each plopped a straw in the bubbling liquid. Ike watched as Sandy pulled the glass towards her and took the first sip. She then slid the soda to Ike, and he sucked in a small mouthful.**

 **Ike swallowed the Purple Flurp and closed his eyes. He mustered his courage, then asked, "Hey Sandy? You know how we have the Spring Fling next week? I was wondering," Ike gulped, "would you want to go with me?"**

 **Sandy's reply was instantaneous and intoxicating. "Sure!"**

* * *

 _Ms. Wolf snatched the bottle of bourbon and key from Ike's hands. "What the hell are you doing here?"_

 _Ike shrugged while walking away from the liquor cabinet. He hopped onto a nearby desk, earning an even deeper frown from Ms. Wolf. "I just wanted to chill here before class. That's all." The furious crinkles in Ms. Wolf's face seemed to loosen a smidgen, so Ike quietly added, "You're normally the funny kind of scary."_

 _"Yeah, well, I've normally had my coffee when you see me," she grumbled while placing the bourbon back in the cabinet._

 _As Ms. Wolf locked that door, Ike walked towards another. Near the liquor cabinet was the entryway to Ms. Wolf's small supply closet. He trolled inside, flipped on the light, and quickly Ms. Wolf's coffeemaker. After ensuring that it was loaded with fresh grounds, Ike flipped it on. The sound of dripping water trailed behind Ike as he reentered the classroom._

 _Ms. Wolf sat at her desk, rolling the key around her fingers. "Why are you here, Baritone?"_

 _"I already told you," Ike shrugged while sitting on the desk before her. "I've got ten minutes to kill before homeroom."_

 _"But why do you always come **here**?"_

 _Ike splayed out his palms and finally admitted, "I guess I just want to spend some time with my favorite teacher."_

 _Ms. Wolf immediately caught the key spinning around her finger. Her eyes narrowed and she abruptly rose from her chair. Ike pulled back at her next words, shocked by the tremor in her tone. "What did you just say?"_

 _Ike blinked slowly and stared into Veronica's eyes._

* * *

Ike stood in front of the school's main doors, jaws gnarling against the frayed remnants of his gum. His tired eyes scanned left and right, at the school he prepared to leave behind for the next week and a half. He bid a silent farewell to his armory, to his saloon, and to the peace they brought him.

With methodical movements, Ike unfolded the black Harrington jacket lying over his arm. He slid both arms into their sleeves, popped the collar, and opened the door to the vast wintery unknown that was December in Retroville.

* * *

 **It was hard to appreciate Sandy's words over the choir of angels singing in his mind. "Really?" Ike struggled to breath out.**

 **"Of course," Sandy answered. "Who else would I go with?" She smiled wider, and Ike became hypnotized by her green eyes and twenty freckles. Her confident whisper barely pierced his ears.**

 **"You're my favorite person, Ike."**

* * *

" _I said," Ike confidently repeated, "you're my favorite teacher."_

 _Boy and woman stared into each other's eyes. At last, Ms. Wolf shook her head. "Why would I be your favorite teacher? Why not someone like Ms. Creek or Mr. Helper?" Ms. Wolf narrowed her eyes and dug the key into the flesh of her palm._

 _The twinge of fury in her tone sent Ike's hand reaching for his pocket. He watched Ms. Wolf follow his palm's path, and he quickly yanked it away. "Ms. Creek's nice," he joked, "but she's a little too prim and proper for my taste." Joviality clouded his anxiety as he went on, "And Mr. Helper's name is a little on the nose. That always bothered me."_

 _Ms. Wolf stared through Ike's sunglasses, then back at his pocket. "But why me, Baritone?"_

 _Ike shrugged and pulled off his shades. He let them dangle by his side as he admitted, "You're cool, okay?" The plastic frames threatened to crack under his strengthening grasp as he repeated_ _, "You're just cool."_

 _For just a moment, Ike's words cracked a dent in Veronica's icy exterior. But it only took a second for her features to harden. She lurched forward, dug her palm into Ike's pocket, and yanked out his packet of Marlboros._

 _"Hey!" Ike shouted while futilely trying to swipe them back._

 _"Why am I cool, Baritone?" Ms. Wolf blankly asked. "Why?!"_

 _"Jeez, you really can't take a compliment!" Ike shouted back. Ms. Wolf's furious features didn't falter, so he admitted, "You're cool because you don't care what anyone thinks of you, okay? You live in this room because you want to. You teach us adult stuff like don't use Macallan as a mixer! And," Ike shrugged and added, "you smoke like I do. So I don't feel stupid for doing it."_

 _Ms. Wolf looked at the cigarettes in her palm, then at the tiny boy before her. "You are stupid, kid," she growled._

 _Ike blinked hard at her cruel words. His hand twitched for the cigarettes that weren't there. "What?" he timidly asked._

* * *

 **Ike sat alone on the playground of Lindbergh Elementary. The manic shouts of his frenzied classmates assaulted his ears; they brought neither joy nor sorrow. Ike simply leaned back against the school's brick wall, dug his heels into the concrete, and he squeezed his arms tight against the February cold.**

 **He closed his eyes after a while, and the familiar circle of emotions ran through his mind. He tried to remember the joyous times he'd shared with Sandy, but those merely led to sorrow. And sorrow, of course, carried guilt along with it. The cycle was repeating for the third when he felt a gentle kick on his ankle. "Hey," a familiar voice suavely spoke.**

 **Ike opened his eyes to stand Nick Dean standing before him. For a moment neither boy moved or spoke. Eventually, Nick sat down beside his classmate. "I wanted you to know I didn't have anything to do with it."**

 **Ike licked his chapped lips and kept his eyes on the playground. He watched two first graders face off and start a game of tetherball. "Did you laugh?"**

 **Nick stayed silent, and Ike watched the ball go round and round.**

 **"It's been three days," Ike went on at last. "Is she even coming back?"**

 **Nick zipped his leather jacket tighter and ran a hand through his wavy hair. "I don't know, man." He faced Ike, and the boy swiveled his gaze Nick's way. "Don't you think you should...ask her?"**

 **"I asked her to go the dance with me," Ike stoically answered. "I shouldn't ask her anything ever again."**

 **Nick cocked his head. "It wasn't your fault, dude. It was Jake and those other fourth graders who poured punch on you guys. Why would she blame you?"**

 **"She wouldn't," Ike squeezed his hands into fists. "But she should."**

 **Nick sighed and told the boy beside him, "So you're just never going to talk to her again?"**

 **"It's best," Ike nodded to himself. She dug his nails deeper into his palm and added, "Didn't deserve her anyway."**

 **Nick and Ike sat together in silence as the first graders finished their match. As the last point was tallied, Nick rose to his feet. "I did laugh, man. And I'm sorry." Nick offered a hand and said, "So maybe you deserve me." Ike stared at Nick's outstretched palm, so the boy added, "Play kickball with me. At least it will distract you."**

 **As much as Ike thought he deserved to wallow in guilt, distraction sounded pretty damn good.**

* * *

 _"I said," Ms. Wolf slowly enunciated the following words, "you really are an idiot. You want to wear sunglasses inside all day because you think it makes you look cool? Be my guest. You want to read the bible all homeroom? That's your call. But you want to slowly kill yourself?" Ms. Wolf narrowed her eyes and motioned at the cigarettes. "That's where you lose my respect, Baritone."_

 _"What the hell?" Ike snapped. He shoved the sunglasses back over his nose. "You do it!"_

 _"Yeah, and I lost my own respect a long time ago, kid. Why do you even use those things, anyway? To accentuate the shades?"_

 _"I was anxious," he growled._

 _"Why?" Ms. Wolf asked while crossing her arms. Ike hid behind his glasses and stayed silent a long moment, so she cupped a palm and asked once more. "Well?"_

 _Ike's hands curled into fists as he admitted, "There was a girl." He closed his eyes and softly added, "And then there wasn't."_

* * *

 **Nick and Ike hopped off their bikes as they braked before an overgrown front yard. They rolled their rides across the sidewalk and halted in front of a "For Sale" sign tilting in the dirt.**

 **"She didn't even say goodbye?" Nick asked his friend.**

 **Ike gingerly removed his sunglasses and reached his front hand into his pocket. He pulled out a neatly folded note. "She wrote me this. Mailed it to me."**

 **Nick stared at the letter and asked, "What does it say?" He watched in concern as Ike's hand violently trembled. "Ike," Nick said while grabbing the boy's wrist.**

 **"It doesn't matter," Ike answered while struggling to shove the note back into his pocket. "She's gone."**

 **"You could write her back," Nick said as Ike hopped onto his bike.**

 **Ike shook his head and pedaled away, leaving Nick behind.**

* * *

 _Ms. Wolf uncrossed her arms. "Did she," she uncharacteristically weighed her words before quietly asking, "pass away?"_

 _"No," Ike answered. "But she's gone." He cast his eyes to the ground and heard Ms. Wolf step towards him. He shut his lids, unwilling to see the truth. "I let her go."_

 _"Look, Ike," Ms. Wolf quietly said. The boy stared up at her in surprise, and she let out a weary sigh. "I've known you three months. But that's long enough to see that you're a good kid. So don't," Ms. Wolf shook her her head and wrapped her arms around herself. She squeezed herself and said, "Don't be stupid. Don't idolize my crappy life. And don't slowly kill yourself."_

 _Ms. Wolf abruptly turned around and walked into her supply closet. Ike watched and waited until she'd emerged carrying a small blue box. She tossed it at Ike, who struggled to catch it. "I tried a dozen times to quit those things," she said while motioning at his cigarettes. "Still have a box of nicotine gum from my last effort."_

 _Ike stared down at both boxes in his hands._

 _"You're a good kid, Ike. But be better." Ms. Wolf swallowed, and Ike stared into her tired eyes. "Be better than me."_

* * *

Ike was halfway to his destination. The church popped over the horizon when he heard a whistling in the air behind him. He spun around and saw a dark shape barreling through the air towards him, twin curls of flame propelling it forward. He cocked his head and watched as the shadows grew closer and coalesced into the boy he'd thought of back in the saloon.

James Neutron deactivated his jetpack and suavely landed before Ike.

"You always did know how to make an entrance," Ike told his friend.

"If Willoughby taught us one thing," Jimmy said with a playful grin, "it's the importance of theatrics." Jimmy's features morphed from playful to pensive, though he couldn't bury all of his joy. "We need to talk, Ike."

* * *

 _Ike swallowed hard as his eyes flitted between the cigarettes and nicotine gum. "Veronica," he cautiously began, unsure of what words would follow._

 _Ms. Wolf's demeanor morphed in an instant. Gone went the understanding in her eyes, and in its place blazed fury. "I think I've just about extended my empathy for the year, Baritone. Now get the hell out of here," she spun Ike around and pushed him towards the door. "And don't come back outside of cooking again."_

* * *

"What's up?" Ike asked.

Jimmy grinned and took a step towards his friend. "I know all about what you did today." Ike cocked his head as Jimmy went on, "You helped Sheen when he felt alone. You tried to be there for Libby and sent her to Sheen when you couldn't. You helped Carl impress Angie." Jimmy smiled wider as he added, "You even offered Cindy a free drink when she was upset. And because of all that," a dreamy grin spread over Jimmy's face, "today was the best day of my life."

Ike pulled out his gum and tossed two more pieces into his hand. "Well I'm glad today worked out for you," Ike sincerely said. "But as awesome as I am, all I did was shoot some Nerf guns and pour a few drinks," he wryly told James.

"It was more than that," Jimmy shook his head and closed the distance between them. James placed a hand on Ike's shoulder and solidly said, "We all needed you today. And you were there."

* * *

 **Nick slowly exhaled and shot a puzzled glance at the boy beside him. "So you're just never going to talk to her again?"**

 **"It's best," Ike nodded in resignation. "Didn't deserve her anyway."**

* * *

 _"You're a good kid, Ike. But be better."_

* * *

"It was just drinks and guns," doubt delicately infused Ike's tone.

"It was more," Jimmy repeated while squeezing Ike's shoulder. He pulled the hand away, unslung his backpack, and pulled out a thick wrapped package. "I got this to say thank you," Jimmy explained while handing the gift to Ike. "I figured it was the least I could do."

Ike's hands dropped under present's weight. "Jeez," he mumbled while slowly tearing off the wrapping paper.

"You should know it's not an original," Jimmy explained as a thick brown cover was revealed. "I learned from the Edison incident that you shouldn't take actual objects...or people," he nervously shrugged, "from the past. But it's a one hundred percent accurate replica."

As more and more of the gift wrap was torn away, all of Ike's anxiety was replaced with quivering adoration. He stared in ethereal awe at the concentric squares on the cover, then opened the book to a random page. Beautiful words, written in flowing calligraphy, were bordered by green vines and blue flowers. Ike tried to speak, but the words caught and lodged in his throat. He swallowed hard and barely managed to squeak out, "Is this?

Jimmy smiled and said, "A Gutenberg Bible."

Ike's legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees. Trickles of icy air wormed their way into Ike's lungs as trembling fingers caressed the page before him. "You don't," Ike struggled to form a cross with his right hand, "know what this means to me."

Jimmy approached Ike and gently clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, I do." He reached into his backpack once more and pulled out a small envelope. "Merry Christmas, Ike."

James handed Ike the card, then activated his jetpack and flew away. Ike followed the flames and watched as they twinkled away into the night. Once James was gone, Ike delicately closed the enormous tome and opened the card.

 _When you're ready. Thanks again._

 _JN_

Ike flipped the card over and realized a name and address was Jimmy's final gift.

 _Sandy Campbell_

 _48 Adelade Drive_

 _Pawtucket, RI_

Ike studied the address for a long moment, looked around the dark street, and nodded in resignation. He tucked the enormous bible under his arm and gingerly ran his fingers down its binding. Once they slipped off the tome, Ike pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his father's number and asked, "Dad? Can you pick me up please? I can't go to Bible Study tonight." Ike slowly admitted, "I've got a couple things I have to do."


	7. The Old Spinster

"Finally," Veronica Wolf groaned while peering through her classroom's window. Moonlight and starlight poured from the heavens and illuminated Ike Burke strolling away from Retroville Middle School. Relieved that she once more had the building to herself, Veronica happily spun away from the glass pane.

"Time for a Veronica night," Ms. Wolf gleefully rubbed her palms together. "I damn well need it." As she sauntered towards her storage room, Veronica swung a glance over her shoulder. "It's not just me, right? Today really went downhill after I talked to Baritone."

Seated atop a desk in the front row, three large brown rats stared intently back at her. None moved an inch, but unmistakable comprehension flashed in their dark eyes.

"I mean," Veronica went on while approaching a shelf filled with glassware, "I didn't take this job to deal with all that emotional stuff." She scooped up a tumbler glass and three thimbles. "If I wanted that, I'd have taken that offer at P.S. 118."

Veronica exited the closet and placed the glasses onto her desk. As she strolled towards the liquor cabinet, the rats shared a glance and eagerly rubbed their whiskers.

"I took this job because Principal Kowalski promised me that Soft Serve and his gang would bring some humor and sci fi. And yeah," she shrugged while yanking out the bottle of Knob Creek, "a little romance too. So what if I want Blondie and Soft Serve to get together? Everyone ships them. Right?"

Ms. Wolf turned towards the rats. The three creatures simultaneous stared at each other, then offered the human a firm nod. Satisfied by their agreement, she poured herself two fingers and the rats one paw of bourbon. "But that drama this morning came out of nowhere. If you're going to promise a couple of genres, stick to them. If today was a book, I'd give it a C-."

Acting as one, the three rats nervously shifted their eyes back and forth.

Ms. Wolf scooped up the pours of bourbon and approached the rodents. Each rat silently grabbed their thimble, and Ms. Wolf rolled her eyes as the next words poured from her lips. "I mean, what tonal shift will happen next? Are we going to switch to horror all of a sudden?"

Veronica extended her glass to the rats, but her cheers was interrupted by the room's lights flickering and dying. Ms. Wolf glared up at the ceiling, then at her classroom door. Behind the thin slab of wood separating her from the rest of the basement, a vicious high-pitched roar echoed in the halls.

"Oh damn it!" Veronica shouted. She dug her nails into the tumbler and closed her eyes in annoyance. "Alright, let's get the lights back on. Then Veronica night can get back on track." Ms. Wolf managed a dreamy smile as she listed the components of a perfect evening. "Popcorn and soda from the cafeteria, a romantica novel from the library, and some hardcore ICP tunes before bed. You guys still in?"

Veronica opened her eyes to find the rats scurrying up a bookshelf. They hopped onto the window she'd stared out of, then squeezed their way through to the outside.

Ms. Wolf slammed her liquor down and stormed after them. "Fine, you cowards! Crawl back to your stupid King Francis! That's more Faygo for me! I'll get the lights on myse—"

The blood-curdling roar interrupted her tirade, but Veronica would not be deterred. "I heard you!" She tramped past the fifteen desks towards the far end of the classroom, where the cooking supplies rested. She halted before the two stoves and stared up at the five knives hanging on the wall between them.

"This school's ridiculous," she grumbled while selecting her favorite blade, an eight-inch carbon steel Gyutou knife. The soft thud of distant pattering footsteps warranted a cautious glance at the door; the unknown threat hastened her selection. She quickly yanked down a five-inch Nakiri cleaver and hastened back to her supply closet.

Tucking the cleaver and knife into the back of her black slacks, Veronica grabbed a flashlight off one of her shelves. She made towards the classroom proper, but hesitated as she spotted a two-drawer filing cabinet. Narrowing her eyes, she yanked open the top drawer and reached inside.

Veronica clasped her hand around a grey grip and pulled out a red plastic revolver she had confiscated from Baritone the week before. She lifted the Nerf CycloneShock into the air, ensured that the six mega darts were loaded, and racked the slide.

Ms. Wolf crossed the classroom in a flash and hesitated before the wooden door. She took in a slow, steady breath as she rearranged her supplies. Veronica ensured that the revolver and cleaver were tucked in her waistband before gripping the flashlight in her left hand. She used her right palm to clasp the Gyutou's handle, its blade jutted out straight before her.

"Whatever the hell you are," Ms. Wolf grumbled while awkwardly twisting the knob and kicking the door open, "you're not ruining Veronica night."

Once the door burst open, the first thing that Veronica noticed was the cold. Gone was the hot air that had poured from the vents hours before. In its stead rested an unsettling chill that perked up the hairs on the back of her neck. Ms. Wolf watched a few stray fireflies buzz before her. Their luminescence, though serene, proved poor to see by. She flicked on her flashlight only to watch the beam sputter and die.

A groan of frustration spilled from her throat as Veronica slammed the butt of the flashlight against the wall. The beam solidified, and she swung the torch's light around the hall. Vines of various color and thickness, ranging from a thin dying brown to luscious and thick green, crisscrossed every wall and door before her. Veronica swung the beam down and watched a thin rolling fog sweep across the floor and obscure her ankles.

Ms. Wolf thought back to that morning and Kowalski's mandatory basement evacuation. For the first time, she began to regret ignoring the order.

"No use regretting the past," Veronica mumbled to herself while cautiously venturing down the hall. "Just find the utility room and fix the circuit breaker."

She trudged along the hall, and another shrill, almost bird-like roar froze her in place. She flexed the fingers on her right hand, let them dance along the knife's hilt, and squeezed the grip tighter. The first fork in the hallway was ten feet before her, giving her the chance to turn either left or right.

Ms. Wolf hesitated before the bend in the hall. The utility room lay to her left, but a poster hanging slightly to her right warranted her gaze. She leaned towards the frayed paper to find three slash marks along its bottom half. She cocked her head at the damage, then studied the poster itself.

Two smiling children adorned leaned against both edges of the poster. One was clad in a pinstripe suit and fedora, the other brandished a cowboy hat and lasso. Veronica stared at the title – the bright colors read **Follow Your Dreams**.

Veronica huffed and turned to her left. "Already tried that," she whispered. Her right arm fell to her side, and she shook her head. "Focus, Veronica," she whispered while sucking in a crisp breath. She raised her arm and steadied the point of the blade straight ahead as she turned to her left.

Ms. Wolf carefully treaded down the long hallway. Halfway down the fifty foot stretch rested a four way intersection. The utility room lay at the end of the right turn. She nodded to herself as she came near the juncture, but the return of the piercing roar froze her in place.

Louder than ever before, the ear-splitting cry poured forth from the left hallway. Veronica immediately plastered her back against the left wall and sidled towards its edge. As she tried to steady her breathing, a new series of sounds breached her ears.

It was a gentle clanging at first, as though a distant figure were tapping pots and pans together. The clamor quickly grew more violent, and Ms. Wolf pictured someone slamming a sledgehammer against sheet metal. She suddenly felt something slither around her foot; it took all her resolve to keep from shouting. She swung the light towards the floor, peered through the fog, and watched a swarm of cockroaches run past her.

The banging ceased just as one more shriek filled the halls. Veronica clenched her jaw tight, sucked frigid air through her teeth, and peered around the corner. Unable to see in the dark, she mustered her courage and shone the light straight ahead.

At the end of the corridor, thirty-feet away, the torch revealed what seemed to be a mutant velociraptor. Brown feathers coated a seven-foot tall muscular frame. The Utahraptor's back was to Veronica, and her eyes widened in fright as she caught sight of the enormous twin talons on its feet. She watched as the beast swung its enormous tail, nearly twice as long as she was tall, against the lockers lining both walls. Bone and muscle tore into metal, leaving thick dents in their wake.

Searching for the source of the sudden light, the raptor craned its neck around. Ms. Wolf's eyes popped open in terror as the beast's wide mouth dropped open. Dozens of razor-sharp teeth glistened in the torch's beam, and the deafening roar rang throughout the basement.

Hands shaking, Veronica realized that there was no escaping this terror. She swallowed hard, then set the flashlight on the ground. Its beam gave her a clear view of the dinosaur dashing towards her. With no time to spare, Veronica squeezed her knife tight and used her left hand to draw the revolver.

She raised the weapon high, stared over the barrel, and aimed at the raptor's skull. It was ten feet away when she let loose an enormous foam dart. As expected, the missile did no damage as it bounced off the creature's temple. But it did make the creature flinch its head to its right.

Veronica seized her opportunity and pounced forward. Letting loose her own primal scream, she used every ounce of power she had to slam the blade straight into the raptor's temple. Thick warm blood spurted onto her arm as the dinosaur screeched in agony.

Ms. Wolf groaned as the beast swung its head, tossing her against a bank of lockers. She held onto the knife and pushed it farther in; muscle gave way and she felt it scrape against the raptor's bone.

The beast swung its left foot in the air, and Veronica pulled away a second too late. Its talon sliced over her abdomen, taking with it a band of her shirt and skin. She let go of the knife and ripped the cleaver out from her waistband while diving onto the floor.

The beast wobbled its head and blinked blood from its eyes as it settled its gaze on Ms. Wolf. She spun the cleaver around in her hand, cast a quick glance at the superficial wound on her abdomen, and then glowered at her nemesis. She studied its feet and watched its right foot shoot up into the air. She jumped to the side, watched the talon slice past her, and slammed the cleaver into the raptor's ankle.

A more primal bellow, trembling with agony and fury, assaulted Veronica's ears. The cleaver buried inside the creature's joint, and the beast collapsed to the ground. Veronica released the blade and watched the enormous animal flail about, unable to purchase any footing.

"Look at me," Veronica seethed while diving onto the raptor's neck. She reached for the handle of her knife, still protruding from its temple. She wrapped both hands around its grip as the dinosaur bucked her like a bull. She held firm, stared into the creature's eye, and saw unmistakable fear behind it.

"Veronica Wolf doesn't die!" She tore the blade free, and one final roar tumbled from the creature's throat. In a single motion, Veronica raised the knife high and slammed it deep into the raptor's eye.

"You do!" she shouted as the blade pierced through the globe, past the socket, and into the brain. The creature shuddered and abruptly fell silent mid-roar.

Ms. Wolf released the knife and crawled backwards on all fours. She stared in disbelief at the twenty-foot long corpse before her, then screamed with all her might. "What is wrong with this school?!"

* * *

Two hours later, Ms. Wolf stood whistling over one of her classroom's stoves. Atop her desk sat an open sewing kit; on her abdomen rested a series of stitches she'd thrown onto the wound. The enormous Utahraptor corpse leaned against her desk. The flank of the creature was plucked, and a slice of muscle had been carved away.

"A little olive oil," Veronica muttered to herself while grabbing a nearby glass bottle. She twisted it open and poured a few drops of oil onto the enormous steak before her. She turned up the stove's flame, then threw a pinch of salt onto the meat. Veronica craned her neck at the corpse, then wondered aloud, "I wonder if you'll taste like chicken."

Once the steak reached medium-rare, Veronica grabbed her tongs and placed the meat onto a plate. She tossed the meal onto her desk, grabbed a fork and knife, and collapsed onto her seat.

"Finally," Ms. Wolf groaned while cutting the first bite of her dinner. She hesitated, then set the utensils down and grabbed the glass of bourbon she'd abandoned before hunting the raptor. "Time for Veronica night."

The brown liquid had just tickled her lips when a loud knocking interrupted her meal. She slammed the glass down and stared at the window. Ike Burke knelt on the ground behind the glass, waving towards her.

"Are you kidding me?!" Veronica roared while leaping from her seat and storming across the room. She ripped the window open and absolutely glowered at the boy. "Baritone! What the hell are you doing here?!"

Ike smiled at her and removed his shades. "I know you said not to come before class, but you never technically said anything about showing up after school." His smile swiftly faded as his gaze drifted past her. He studied the raptor's corpse, then the nearby steak. "Are you eating a dinosaur?"

"That's none of your business!" Ms. Wolf roared back. Ike struggled to tear his gaze away from the animal, but ultimately faced her once more. "Why," Ms. Wolf stuttered with devastation, "are you here?"

"I just wanted to let you know that your gum worked," Ike explained while flipping over a palm. "I haven't smoked in twelve hours. That's the longest I've gone without a cig since fourth grade."

"That is incredibly sad," Veronica said without inflection. "And as you can see, I've been waiting on the edge of my seat all day to hear if my pep talk worked. After all, it's not like I've been busy or anything," she deadpanned while motioning at the Utahraptor behind her.

"Now," Ms. Wolf grumbled, "is there anything else? Or can I get back to my meal?"

"There is one other thing," Ike answered. Ms. Wolf simply scowled as Ike picked a plainly wrapped gift off of the ground. "I wanted to give you this."

"A present?" Ms. Wolf scoffed.

"Just something to say thank you. For today."

Veronica hesitantly accepted the offering and studied its square design. She slowly tore away the wrapping paper to reveal a thick hardcover book. A picture of a cooked turkey graced the cover, and the title above simply said **The Cooking Bible.**

"What the heck is this?" Veronica asked while staring at the boy before her.

Ike's hand twitched, and he placed his sunglasses back over his nose. "It's full of virgin recipes," he explained. "I figured maybe you could teach us some after winter break."

Ms. Wolf gripped the book tight, and she watched her knuckles blanch against the cover. "What are you trying to say, Baritone?"

Ike fretfully flicked his tongue over his chapped lips and wrung his hands together. "You asked me before why I started smoking. The girl…Sandy…I was ruined when she left. And I couldn't get over it alone."

Ike sighed and pulled the packet of gum from his pocket. He tossed the final piece into his mouth and ground it between his teeth. "Ms. Wolf," he quietly said while staring into her cold eyes, "whatever it is you're going through, I wanted you to know I can be there for you. All of us can. You're our teacher, which means we're on the same team."

Ms. Wolf stared at the book in her hands and slowly shook her head. "I thought kids hated their teachers."

Ike laughed, which earned a surprised glance from Veronica. "We're not kids anymore. We're preteens. So no, we don't hate you."

Veronica stayed silent, so Ike motioned at the dinosaur. "If you're tough enough to kill that thing with your bare hands, you can beat whatever's tearing you apart."

Ms. Wolf stayed quiet for a moment, refusing to meet Ike's eyes. She considered what she had to admit was a valid point. "Wasn't barehanded," she mumbled. "I had a knife."

"Well then," Ike wryly said while crossing his arms, "I guess I take everything back."

Ms. Wolf looked up at Ike, who offered her a sincere smile. "It's just an offer, Veronica. It's still your choice." Ike rose to his feet and adjusted his coat's collar. "Have a Merry Christmas."

Ms. Wolf watched Ike flash her one last grin, then stroll away. Her eyes stayed on him as he walked down the cement pathway, crossed the road to the sidewalk, and disappeared down the street.

"Stupid kid," she halfheartedly grumbled while closing the window. She marched towards her desk and tossed the cookbook onto the corner, far from her meal. "Doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

Veronica walked around her desk and took a seat on her chair. She leaned back, exhaled in exhaustion, and gripped her tumbler of bourbon. She studied her fingers as they squeezed the glass tight, then watched as they trembled in the air. She grit her teeth, clenched the glass harder and watched it threaten to shatter, then slammed the tumbler on the table.

"What the hell," she grumbled while opening her liquor cabinet and yanking out the bottle of Knob Creek. She popped open the cork and poured the bourbon back inside. "I'll give it one shot."

Ms Wolf placed the liquor back inside, locked the cabinet door, and reached across her desk to grab the cookbook. She flipped it open to a random page, scanned the lines of text, and arched her eyebrows in shock.

"You can make chili **without** bourbon?" Veronica shook her head in disbelief. She let out a huff of amusement and wryly said, "Guess I do have a lot to learn."

Ms. Wolf leaned back in her chair, got comfortable, and finally started her Veronica night.


	8. Moving Forward

The twin thrusters roaring behind James' jetpack were extinguished with the push of a button. Jimmy smoothly descended, felt his feet gain purchase on the asphalt below, and marched towards the Candy Bar. He was a dozen paces from the welcoming double doors when a familiar pace popped out.

For the first time that day, an easy smile spread across Jimmy's lips. Ike returned the gesture with a wave and half-smile as they halted a few feet apart.

Jimmy glanced down at his watch despite already knowing the time; it was barely past noon. "Leaving this early?"

"Early?" Ike wearily asked. "I've been working here for the past three hours."

"Getting all your homework done in one go?"

"Naw," Ike said with a shake of his head. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. "Doing something more important."

Jimmy's eyes drifted to the letter, but Ike didn't give him time to contemplate what was inside. "Listen, Jim," Ike carefully began. "The bible would have been more than enough. But Sandy?" Ike's fingers gripped the envelope tighter, and he gently pulled off his sunglasses.

Brown and blue eyes silently met as Ike contemplated his next words. At last, he steadily offered, "If you ever need anything, just ask."

"It was just a book and an address," Jimmy calmly answered. There was a moment's pause, then Jimmy offered the barest hints of a playful grin.

Ike huffed in amusement as he stepped forward and placed a hand on James' shoulder. A reverse image of the night before, Ike squeezed his hand and said, "It was more." Ike released his grasp, gently patted Jimmy's shoulder, and pulled away. "Merry Christmas, Jim."

"Same to you, Ike," Jimmy offered as both kids strolled past each other. They'd only made it five paces before Ike snapped his fingers. Both kids craned their necks and stared at each other.

"And if you ever need a number six on an adventure, maybe you'll give me a call?"

Jimmy didn't need to weigh his answer. "You bet." Satisfied, Ike continued his stroll and Jimmy entered the Candy Bar.

James shivered in the doorway and took a moment to appreciate the restaurant's warmth. He rubbed his hands together and scanned the half dozen patrons strewn about the establishment. He cocked his head at the absence of his friend, but this confusion fled as the bathroom door swung open. "Hey," he offered with a wave.

Libby Folfax flashed grin as she approached the genius. "Hey yourself."

"Been waiting long?" Jimmy asked as he let Libby lead the way to their gang's usual booth.

"Ten minutes," Libby answered with a shrug. "I saw Ike, but he was pretty busy."

Jimmy nodded as Libby took her seat in the semicircular booth. Jimmy stood by the table and quietly asked, "So, why did you want to meet here?"

"I figured we'd just have a chat," Libby answered as James moved towards the opposite end of the table. She crossed her arms, flipped a palm, and nonchalantly added, "Maybe about Cindy."

Jimmy froze just above the cushion. His nervous eyes bore into Libby's serene pupils. "She told you?"

"Obviously," Libby shot back.

Jimmy sighed and nervously gripped the edge of the table. "You want to chew me out like her mom will?"

A twitch of Libby's lips revealed her surprise. "No," she quietly said while slowly shaking her head. The squeaking of sneakers on linoleum rang out as she said, "I just wanted to congratulate you."

Jimmy turned to his side and saw Sam approach with a tray holding two chocolate shakes. Libby's voice softly went on, "I bought us a couple shakes."

Shame weighed Jimmy's eyes down and anchored them to the floor. He slid onto his seat and tentatively grabbed his drink. Voice muddled with contempt, he whispered a quick, "Thanks."

Libby pulled her own drink towards her. Both kids fiddled with their straws until Libby explained, "I know we never really talk. Not just the two of us, I mean. But I wanted to let you know, I'm glad you guys kissed." Jimmy glanced up at her, and Libby offered a sincere smile. "It was always obvious you two belonged together."

An awkward silence hung in the air as both children struggled to figure out what to say next. At last, Jimmy asked, "So it was clear from the beginning, huh?"

Libby took the first sip of her shake and smacked her lips before answering. "I mean, thinking back to fifth grade, there was no real reason for you two to be so mean to each other. She tried to buy you as a slave and you left a girl-eating plant on her doorstep just because you both wanted to be the smartest kid in class? That's not normal."

Jimmy thought back to how aggressive his and Cindy's rivalry had been in those early days of their relationship. "No argument there," he glumly admitted while tasting his own drink.

"So other than hating each other, what else could make two people act that nuts?"

Both kids sucked on their straws, the obvious answer hanging unspoken in the air.

Libby pulled her mouth from her shake and studied James. She didn't know the genius as well as she'd like, but it was obvious there was something more than the awkwardness of their meeting silencing him. "How do you feel about this? About you and Cindy?"

Jimmy tapped his fingers against the glass before meeting Libby's gaze. He wasn't sure what it was that made him answer truthfully. Perhaps it was his guilt at assuming she had asked him here only to hurt him. Maybe it was the desire to use any available tool to stop him from screwing up his new relationship. There was also the chance that there was an artistic side of James yearning for symmetry. After all, he was the only one of his friends who'd failed to be helped by another the day before. Whatever the cause, the next words James spoke held nothing but the truth.

"I'm scared," he admitted.

The candid confession surprised Libby, and for a moment she simply stirred her thick drink. "Are you doing that thing again where you pretend a kiss doesn't mean anything?"

James though back to that time he had grabbed Cindy in an alleyway; remembered how quickly they'd pretended to forget the plunge they'd taken.

"No," Jimmy plainly answered. "It meant everything to me." His eyes drifted to the condensation on the glass. He studied a few beads of water race towards the table as he explained, "I just don't want to screw it up."

A droplet of water was just about to hit the table when Libby's voice drew his gaze. "Why are you worried about that?"

Conceding to the whole truth, Jimmy licked his lips and chose his words wisely. "Maybe Cindy and I had a weird friendship before."

Libby prepared to interject with a sarcastic remark, but she bit her tongue at the last moment.

"But," Jimmy went on, "we kept it going for two years. We knew what we were doing. But this…this new thing?" Jimmy sighed. "What do we know about being a couple?"

Libby huffed in friendly amusement. "Nothing," Libby answered. "But it's not like you two were," she struggled to find the right word, "static for the past two years. You kept shifting between enemies, rivals, and friends. You kept making leaps the whole time. This is just another one."

Jimmy considered her words and deemed them valid. "I just," Jimmy flicked his tongue over his lips and admitted to Libby, "it took yesterday to make me realize how much I wanted this. How much I wanted," Jimmy shook his head but realized there was no point in any further denials. "How much I wanted her."

"Hey," Libby softly began while pushing her shake to the side. Jimmy reflected her movements, and the two friends stared at each other. "We're not stupid. We know how unlikely it is that we'll stay with our elementary school sweethearts forever. It's a losing game, but we've got better odds than most. And that's because what we have with Sheen and Cindy is **real** ," she begged Jimmy to understand.

"I don't like Sheen because he's a jock or because he's handsome. I didn't even like him at first! I love him because over the past two years he's shown me that he cares about who I am inside. Because even when I'm at my lowest," Libby's eyes briefly glazed over as she thought back to the day before, "he's the one who can lift me back up.

"And you don't love Cindy just because she's got a cute ponytail. You love her because she's the only person in this school who can understand what you do in your lab all day. Because she pushes you to be better. Because even when two acted like you hated each other, when the chips were down, she was always there for you."

Libby leaned back against her seat and watched James decipher her words. He blinked a few times in slow succession as he truly considered what she'd stated. "That was," Jimmy hesitated and arched both eyebrows in impish awe, "a very apt description of our relationships."

Libby wryly studied her nails as she answered, "I have my moments, you know."

"You sure do." A smile twitched over Jimmy's lips, but his expression turned serious as he realized that he wasn't the only one who deserved a pep talk. He wasn't in as articulate a mood as Libby, but he offered what he could. Jimmy cleared his throat and asked, "Libs?"

She perked up at her nickname and met Jimmy's gaze.

"For what it's worth," Jimmy told her, "you should focus on making yourself happy. But I don't think you could ever manage to stop helping other people. Because you're honestly one of the best people I know."

After a moment of surprise, Libby stammered out a response. "Thank…thank you," she whispered. She shook her head and started to ask, "Did Sheen -"

Jimmy's eyes suddenly widened as his gaze slid over Libby's shoulder towards the center of the restaurant. He honed in on the new television Sam had recently instilled above the bar. James pointed at the screen, and Libby followed his gaze as he asked, "Sam, can you turn that up?"

Sam grumbled but obliged the request. Libby spun around in her seat, and both kids watched in awe as the local news began reporting on Retroville Middle School.

* * *

Across town, freshman reporter Anita Kan struggled to focus her stinging eyes on the her cameraman's lens. The scorching flames behind her licked her back, and the billowing smoke from the basement's windows burnt her throat. As her cameramen rang out his countdown, Anita allowed herself a few deep coughs before sucking in a lungful of acrid air. Her partner pointed towards her, and Anita flashed a wide smile.

"This is Anita Kan from Action Nine News," Anita's firm voice introduced her first segment. She felt her fingers dance with adrenaline and brushed them through her jet black ponytail. "I'm standing outside Retroville Middle School, which over the past twenty-four hours has experienced a startling sequence of events."

Anita motioned to the fire behind her, then at the nearby pile of a dozen dead velociraptors. "While I could certainly try to explain what led to this blazing inferno and pile of raptor corpses, I have an eyewitness here who could do a much better job."

Anita kept a nervous smile plastered on her face as she motioned for her guest to step into frame. An exhausted Veronica Wolf lurched towards her, rolling an enormous blank whiteboard. It took all of Anita's resolve to keep a steady composure while staring at the cooking teacher. The edges of her auburn hair were singed, numerous slash marks crisscrossed her clothes, and the knife in her hand was coated in dried rustic blood.

Anita shifted her pupils to stare at her news van, which had a monitor showing the news as it appeared on television. She raised an eyebrow at the chyron underneath the haggard instructor introduced her as **Veronica "Turok" Wolf**.

"Thanks, Anita," Veronica began while letting go of the whiteboard. "I'll take it from here." Anita took a step away from her guest as Veronica swung the knife around to make her point.

"So I started putting this all together last night," Veronica explained while flipping the whiteboard over. A simple flow chart was scrawled across the board.

 **Broken Pipe** → **Flood** → **Temporal Accelerator** → **Heat** → **New Biodome**

"So here's what I got," Ms. Wolf explained while smacking her knife against the words **Broken Pipe**. The teacher's following words flew out in an adrenaline-induced staccato. "After I ate the Utahraptor, I finally settled in for my Veronica night. But then I heard the little pitter-patter of footsteps and found them," she slashed the knife towards the pile of velociraptors. "After fighting off that Mormon bastard those things were a piece of cake. But while I was hunting those little buggers I came across a broken water pipe. That's when I realized how all this started. Someone smashed the pipe and caused a flood in the basement."

"Fascinating," Anita answered. "Do you have any leads as to who caused this?"

"Well," Ms. Wolf said while tapping the knife against her chin, "I have absolutely no evidence to support this, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and firmly accuse the Spastic Spiz." Ms. Wolf flashed a quick glare at the camera, then let a pensive look wash over her once more. "But then I started wondering how the flood spread so fast and disappeared so quick. So I did some more of my _investigating_ ," Ms. Wolf held up air quotes, "and killed a _Stegosaurus_."

"So what did you find?" Anita asked. She blinked twice and clarified, "Other than a Stegosaurus."

"During my travels I noticed that the dinosaurs were clustered around a storage room. So I opened it up and found that!" Ms. Wolf jabbed her knife towards the basement's emergency exit, where she'd lugged what appeared to be an enormous generator. The only unusual thing about the device were the red atom painted on its side.

"Now what is that device?" Anita probed.

"Oh you know, just a standard Neutronian time accelerator!" Veronica screamed. She shoved her fingers towards Anita's face, who recoiled in shock. "Look at these wrinkles I got shutting that thing off!" Veronica pivoted towards the camera and screamed, "I know that thing's yours, Soft Serve! And I also know your puny little arms couldn't lug that thing around! I'm blaming Braids for that!"

Anita nervously tugged on Veronica's sleeve, sending two bloodshot eyes swiveling her way. "I'm sorry," Anita shakily said, "But you're saying that device accelerates time?"

"Duh doy!" Veronica shouted back. "Pick up a quantum physics book! That thing must isolate tachyons in the nearby environment, sap their energy, release Cherenkov radiation, and increase their velocity past subluminal speeds!"

"What?" Anita breathlessly asked.

"Look," Veronica took in a haggard breath and viciously coughed from the smoke. "Soft Serve's invention made the flood come and go quicker than it should have. But throw in the sweltering heat," Veronica bounced her knife off the word **Heat** on the blackboard, "And you've got the perfect recipe for a new Jurassic Age." Ms. Wolf tapped her blade on the words **New Biodome**.

Anita stared at the blackboard for a few seconds and slowly shook her head. "And why was the school so hot?"

"Because that Llama Lover adjusted the school's main thermostat!" Ms. Wolf roared. "You see? It was all Soft Serve's gang!" Ms. Wolf's eyes nervously shifted from side to side as she quietly admitted, "I don't know where Blondie fits in, but she must have done something! It'd be really lazy if the other four contributed but no one could figure out something for Blondie to do! That's a real C minus move!"

An enormous crashing sound caused Anita and Veronica to swivel their heads; the brick wall containing the emergency exit collapsed to the ground.

Veronica grit her teeth and groaned, "Son of a…that's the fourth wall that broke today!"

"Ms. Wolf," Anita firmly asked, "I don't know who any of these people are, but clearly you've identified who was responsible for the creation of these dinosaurs. But what about the fire?"

Ms. Wolf hesitated before sighing and shrugging. "Alright, ya got me. That one was my bad. I figured the basement was a lost cause after I took down the Stego. And I had a bunch of fuel to get rid of, so I just burnt the whole basement down."

Anita and Veronica stared at each other for a long moment as the smoke and heat washed over them. "That," Anita slowly shook her head, "is an incredible tale." She placed a hand against the receiver in her ear, nodded, and then offered Ms. Wolf a nervous grin. "I'm afraid we're going to have to wrap this story up, but do you have any final words for the viewers at home?"

"You bet I do!" Veronica roared while gripping Anita's microphone and lurching towards the camera. A close-up of crazed bloodshot eyes was transmitted across Retroville. "Every member of Soft Serve's gang is getting a month of detention the second Winter Break is over! You are going to repair every inch of this basement, buy me gallons of Faygo, and get me my damned Veronica night!"

* * *

Back inside the Candy Bar, Libby and Jimmy stared dumbfounded at the television screen. As Retroville Middle School disappeared from view and was replaced by two slack-jawed anchors at the news desk, Libby and Jimmy slowly turned to each other.

Silence hung in the air for a long moment, then James cautiously ventured, "You could have turned the time accelerator off."

"You could have told me to do that," Libby quietly snapped back. She sucked in a calming breath, then shook her head. "I guess detention's getting off pretty lightly for destroying a third of the school."

Jimmy grabbed his shake and leaned back in his booth. "I guess it's about time we get punished for something."

Libby huffed in amusement. "We did have a pretty clean run at Lindbergh, huh?" She took a sip from her icy drink and shook her head. "You know, I used to think that elementary school was nuts. But middle school takes the cake."

Jimmy nodded while tapping his hands against his own shake. He took a slow slip, watched the brown liquid dive deeper towards the bottom, and then asked, "What do you think high school will be like?"

Libby smiled. "Even wackier, I'm sure." She released her drink and drummed her knuckles against the table. "And it's not far off."

Jimmy quickly nodded. "I used to to think that elementary school would never end," he admitted. "Six years just seemed like so long. But then it did," he said with a shrug. "And we're already halfway done our first year of middle school."

Libby slowly nodded in agreement. A quiet air hung over them, but Libby broke it with a venturous smile. "So, what will high school be like?" she repeated James' question. "I'm sure you'll be valedictorian and president of some science club."

Jimmy smiled and contemplated the next leg of their journey towards adulthood. "I think you'll run the school newspaper."

"Really?" Libby asked. She leaned back, abandoned her shake, and looked at James. She thought for a few seconds and said, "I can see that. But I'll write the editorials myself."

"Scathing reviews of the dress code?" Jimmy playfully offered.

"Like we'd let them give us a dress code," Libby offered a devilish grin. Both kids chuckled before she added, "Sheen should run track. Burn some of that energy off."

"Yeah," James agreed. "Think he'll become a jock and hang with Ike and Nick?"

"That'd be the day," Libby said with a shake of her head. "What about Cindy?"

Jimmy contemplated his girlfriend for a moment and said, "She'll be class president."

Libby shook her head. "You don't think she'll be disqualified for stuffing the ballot boxes with her name again?"

"No," Jimmy immediately answered. Libby cocked her head, so he slowly added, "I think we'll learn from our mistakes."

Libby considered the answer but couldn't help agreeing. "Guess you're right. Because I don't plan on getting fired from the paper for gossiping."

"Or extortion," Jimmy dryly added.

Libby narrowed her eyes but flashed a devilish smile back. "Well hopefully you don't lose valedictorian for, I don't know, sending being an out of control hall monitor. Or making a teacher a giant monster. Or cheating in gym class with super fast shoes. Or -"

"I get it," Jimmy grumbled. He felt that morning's dread simmer back up, but Libby's next words cooled him off.

"Hey," she gently said, "Like you said, we all made mistakes these past years. But we'll all learn from them. So," she smiled, "what will our pal Carl be up to in high school?"

Jimmy and Libby both considered the question for a long time. At last, Jimmy said, "Working part time at the petting zoo."

"That's all we got?" Libby asked.

"He's a wild card," Jimmy playfully answered.

"He does have potential," Libby agreed.

Both kids grinned, sucked the last dregs from their shakes, and pushed the empty glasses towards the end of the table.

"I have to say," Libby said while cracking her knuckles, "high school doesn't sound so bad."

"We paint a nice picture," Jimmy agreed. "But do you think it'll play out that way?"

Libby considered the question for a few moments, then answered with a half-smile. "I have no idea. But I think we got one part nailed down. It'll always be the five of us."

"No question," Jimmy immediately agreed.

Both children stared at the empty shakes. Libby rubbed her arm, let out a tiny sigh, and then looked up at James. "Thanks for meeting me here, Jim."

Jimmy perked up at his nickname, then quietly said, "Thanks for the shake."

Libby grinned and rose to her feet. "Well, if you ever want to grab another one, let me know." She took a step away from the table, but stopped as Jimmy's voice rang out.

"Maybe right now?"

Libby turned back to Jimmy, and was surprised by the flash of anxiety he spotted in his eyes. He flashed a nervous smile and added, "Next round's on me."

Libby granted Jim an easy smile back, and took her seat. "Sounds good to me."

Both friends waved Sam over, placed their order, and happily settled in for the afternoon.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'm sorry it took so long to update, but at least this story was finished right around Christmas. This fic was a blast to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I want to give a special thanks to _Acosta Perez Jose Ramiro_ , _Farley Drexel_ , and _Joe Stoppinghem_ for their multiple reviews. As always, I would love to heart what anyone thought of his story. If you leave a review I'll be sure to get back to you and answer any questions or comments you have. Thanks again, JN fans.**


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